Pirates of the Caribbean: Sirens
by lupinskitten
Summary: Jack Sparrow may have escaped his hanging, but he has set a sinister plan into motion that will force Elizabeth Swann to turn once again to James Norrington for help. Events transpire just after the conclusion of the first film / Het Big Bang 2011.
1. Chapter 1

_**Pirates of the Caribbean: Sirens**_

The brig was hardly proper accommodations, Captain Jack Sparrow thought as he dusted off the frills of his sleeve, but he was somewhat accustomed to them, having plundered his way across the seven seas. And the brig of the _Dauntless _was better than most. It was a big ship, impressive in scale and pomp, accustomed to carting aristocrats here and there, its officers walking around as if they had unpardonably large sticks up their backside. There weren't even any stains on the rough iron bars. He pressed his head against them. Alas, they were not quite wide enough to fit through. Sniffing at the nearest one, he licked it and shuddered. Its thick, metallic taste with a hint of salt filled his mouth as footsteps approached down the long corridor and a cabin boy came into sight.

"Here's your supper," the boy said, shoving a hard block of cheese, some stale bread, and a cup of water at him.

Frowning, Jack knocked the cheese against the bars and it made a clanking sound. His heavily-shaded eyes narrowed with displeasure and darted aft as the commodore ducked his head and entered through the low doorway. Norrington clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed his prisoner with a hint of satisfaction, almost a smirk. He stepped aside to permit the cabin boy to leave and the young man scurried out, eyeing the other cells, full of formerly-undead pirates. Sitting down on his berth, Jack tossed the cheese onto the tin plate with a clank. "To what do I owe this honor, Commodore? Have you come to offer me a pardon for helping you rescue the future Mrs. Norrington?"

One corner of the commodore's mouth tilted upwards humorlessly and James said, "Much as it displeases me, given your recent… assistance to Governor Swann, I have been convinced to offer you a chance to earn a pardon. Consider it your last chance at redemption. Give me the _Pearl_ and your neck will be spared the noose."

Lanterns swung overhead, casting flickering shadows against the walls. His words hung in the air and Jack considered them, his long ring-covered fingers toying with the edge of his tin cup. It occurred to him if Norrington could catch the _Pearl_, he could then steal it. But he was much too smart to give in easily and stretched out on his cot, placing his hands behind his head. Staring at the ceiling, he said, "It occurs to me, Commodore, that given your dislike of me and your general contempt for the noble trade of piracy, this notion of yours is not of your own making. Tell me, was it young Mr. Turner… or are you more easily swayed by more feminine charms?"

James did not respond as the pirate sat up to have a better look at his face. The slyest of grins widened, showing off an impressive assortment of silver-capped teeth. Throwing his booted feet over the side, he stood up and approached the bars. Leaning against them, he said, "What did she say to you to make you change your mind, eh? Or is this yet _another _wedding gift? You've _already_ given her William Turner."

It gave him a certain amount of satisfaction to see the anger that flickered over the commodore's face. James opened his mouth as if to speak but thought better of it, tightening his hands behind his back until his fingers stung. "If it were up to me, Mr. Sparrow, you would hang."

"Captain, _Captain_ Sparrow."

The commodore smirked. Behind him, Gillette entered and said, "Commodore, you are wanted by Governor Swann."

Pressing his head against the bars, Jack hissed, "I would rather be hanged from the mast and have my weasely black guts spill all over the deck of your shiny boat than help you and your scurvy lot capture the _Pearl_. So… no, I won't be taking your most generous offer. Do give my finest regards to Elizabeth."

Not at all disappointed, James turned and vanished into the gloom. Gillette sent their prisoner a haughty glance and followed. In the prolonged silence that followed, other than the loud arguing in the next cell among Barbossa's captured crew over whose fault this was, Jack stemmed his anger and dropped once more onto his cot. He removed something from his boot, a small blood red stone cold to the touch. It shimmered in the palm of his hand, the one thing the officers had not found when they had divested him of what he had taken from the pirate caves. Jack lifted it to his ear and listened, the faint melody it carried causing him a small amount of satisfaction. His head turned as he heard familiar voices and the stone vanished as his fingers curved downward, concealing it in his sleeve, as the quarreling couple came into view. The woman did not have as ample a figure as Jack liked on a woman but there was a certain attraction to her, particularly dressed in trousers. He liked the view.

Marching up to the bars, Elizabeth demanded, in her annoying, high-pitched, nasally voice, "What did you say to Commodore Norrington?"

Narrowing his gaze as if in thought, he tapped his chin and answered, "You know, darling, my memory isn't what it should be these days, too much rum and all, but I think it was to _bloody well buggar off_."

"Do you know how _long_ it took me to convince him to give you a second chance?" Elizabeth hissed through her teeth. "Do you _want_ to hang?"

"Pleased as I would be to admit to such selfless actions, love, I have no intention of hanging. It just so happens that I don't bloody well _like_ your Commodore Norrington."

Setting her mouth into a deliberate pout, she said, "And that's worth your life, is it?"

"Should you really be concerning yourself with what happens to pirates, love, what with you being the future Mrs. Commodore and all?"

Her face flushed.

Behind her, Will suddenly stood up straighter and his hands dropped to his sides. Jack had hit a sensitive spot in both of them. "You're still going to marry him, then," said Will.

"I have no choice. I promised him that I would. You wouldn't understand, my father…"

"Should not dictate your life, and nor should James Norrington! He made you promise to marry him in exchange for something you wanted… is that really the kind of man your father would have you marry?"

Helpfully, Jack said, "Matter of fact, it was Elizabeth who suggested it."

Both of them glared at him and placing a finger over his lips, he backed away from the bars and retreated into a corner, where he leaned against the wall behind him, thoroughly pleased. Sending him an annoyed glance, Elizabeth went to the young man's side and pleaded with him. "I had to make sure you would be safe. He refused to come after you. He had Jack and me, with no reason to pursue the _Pearl_."

"So you sold yourself into marriage to a man you do not love to save me, thus the blame is mine."

Anger surfaced in her face and she said, "That's not fair. You make it sound so…"

"Distasteful?"

Reflected in his gaze was her shame, the anger that crept through her that he would dare insult her. It was not that James was a bad man; her father was right, in many ways he was an excellent match, an attractive, stable man who had quickly become someone of importance on the islands, well-respected by his men, desired by most of the women of society, and who never let her win an argument even if he was polite in his point of view. She had to fight for everything James gave her and it was only because she had caught him off guard that he had agreed. Marriage to him would not be unpleasant, she reasoned, merely dull, and she abhorred dullness. She was too angry to answer him and in her silence Will turned and stormed out the door, passing into the darkness. Balling her hands into fists, Elizabeth glared through the bars at the prisoner, who seemed altogether unconcerned as he stared back, pushing away from the wall and sauntering toward her.

"I don't suppose you'd have a spot of rum on you, would you, lass? Oh, wait, that's right. You _don't approve_ of rum."

Setting her chin and hating the way his dark eyes shone out at her, Elizabeth asked, "Is that all you have to say?"

His finger rested on the bar near the curve of her hand, his eyes lingering on her pale skin before they darted upward. "When I was a lad, my father mentioned to me a story he'd heard sailing the South Seas. Bloody good pirate, he was. _Is_, probably, as there's no hell that wouldn't spit him out again… there was a familiar spirit, a siren, who tired of the shores of Anthenmusa and came to walk among men. She got them to do whatever she wanted but in the end the ruffians trapped her in a precious stone from the island and there she remains, awaiting a man of noble intentions to lay his hand upon it, and when that hour comes her spirit will be released, and his taken."

Never had she disliked him more than in that moment, spouting rubbish to her as if she were a child. Elizabeth set her mouth in a hard line and started to move away but his hand caught her wrist. For the first time since they had met, all traces of absurdity vanished from his face, leaving him almost frightening. In a low murmur, he looked her in the eye and said, "I cannot speak for the commodore, or for young Mr. Turner, but _sirens_ always get burned. Savvy?"

Something in his eyes intimidated her. Jerking her arm away from him, Elizabeth flounced out the door. In her absence the murmur of his companions, the continual arguing and prodding, turned into a full-blown fistfight. Jack ignored their manly grunts and the sound of a head being smacked repeatedly against the iron bars, drawing the attention of the guards as he retreated to his cot and stretched out, chucking the stale bread across the room for the rats. He smiled and turned on his side, curling up into a ball and closing his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Elizabeth told herself that nothing Jack Sparrow said mattered, but his comment burned in her breast over the next several days as their ship returned to Port Royal, less a few men and weighted with emotion. Her father was pleased, having no knowledge of anything that had transpired after the moonlit events of the ship coming under siege. James was polite but slightly distant, his countenance unreadable as he spent most of his time accommodating her father and discussing matters with his remaining officers. She had not spoken to Will since he had learned the truth. It wasn't the same, she argued with herself. She had not _sold herself_ to Commodore Norrington. Will saw it that way, but it was Jack she found even more disturbing for his implication that she was much like the fantastic creatures of old, a siren, a manipulator of men. True, she had offered James what he wanted in desperate attempt to get the man back she most loved from a fate worse than death, but James would make a fine husband… even if he wasn't William Turner.

Though she had not gone to the brig to speak to Captain Sparrow again, she knew Will had, for she had seen him vanish below decks. As insulted as she might have been, she didn't believe Jack should hang considering he had helped save their lives in a roundabout manner as he had executed his revenge. And though she wouldn't swear to it, it crossed her mind that James also felt their manner of catching him had been underhanded. He hadn't wanted to simply run across Jack Sparrow on the docks or floating in a longboat; he wanted the thrill of having captured him and the _Black Pearl_ on the high seas.

Night was upon the island when the _Dauntless_ returned and the governor and his daughter were rowed ashore. There was to be a few days delay and then a public hanging. A knot grew in her stomach as she climbed into the craft to take her ashore, sharing a last look with the commodore that revealed none of his emotions. He was apt at concealing them, though now and again she found a trace of wounded pride, ambition, or hope that she meant what she had told him. Elizabeth tried to mean it, tried to put genuine affection into her smile, but beneath it was a slow-burning misery that she had lost her chance at happiness. Her father would never have allowed it nor approved of it, but since childhood she had imagined being married to Will. They'd had the same shy attraction for one another all along, sharing in the same innocent pursuits while James had been commanding forces and climbing through the naval ranks. It wasn't that he was too old; it was that she feared what he would expect from her—an entirely proper existence, a repressed life as a naval man's wife.

He watched her and the others go ashore, saw the set of her shoulders, and knew what she was thinking. James had ignored her as a child but been aware of her presence and strangely she had become attached to him, or at least felt more comfortable with him than the other officers. Once, she had been separated from her maid in the central square and he had taken her home. From then on she had come to him with her problems and insecurities, even though on their initial voyage he had intimidated her with his opinion of pirates. It was only when she had realized she was no longer a little girl that the friendship between them had become strained, when she had discovered her attentions might be seen as something else entirely. James was not a fool; he knew she had promised to marry him simply to obtain what she wanted. It stung, more than he thought it would.

"Shall we take the prisoner ashore, Commodore?"

Gillette placed his hand on the rail and watched Elizabeth go, his dislike of her more than apparent. He had never quite learned the art of concealing his feelings but provided he did not express them verbally could not be chastised. It was out of friendship that he found her so distasteful, for James was well aware that in Gillette's mind, she was conniving and spoiled.

He watched her go as far as the dock and then turned to his companion. "Yes, I think a night behind _proper_ iron bars would do him well."

The pirate was brought upstairs clasped in irons and they eyed one another as a second longboat was lowered over the side. It irritated James that he had done nothing to earn this prize; Jack Sparrow had fallen into his hands by accident. Pale silvery light caressed the dark strands of the pirate's greasy hair and his personal effects rattled as he climbed overboard. "Keep a watchful eye on him," James warned and his officer nodded and scrambled down after the vagrant.

Water lapped at the oars and the red stone hidden in his pocket grew colder against Jack's chest, the faint song caressing the surface of the water and casting out little ripples of sound. Jack ignored his companions and the constant movement of the boat, staring up at the hanging skeletons that warned pirates off Port Royal. When the _Pearl_ had fired on the shore it had taken the bottom half clean off one of them and it was a morbid sight in the moonlight, a reminder of the curse that had been on most of them for the past ten years. Jack was beginning to regret lifting it, as being immortal would have come in handy when facing the noose, but killing Barbossa had been worth it. The memory of it brought a pleased smile to his face as they nudged him up on the dock and he made the slow walk to the prison fortress.

It was ironic that they would put him in the same cell as before. The door had since been re-hung and he suspected this time Turner would not come along and let him out. But nor would the boy let him hang. The conversation they'd had made him confident of that. He almost felt bad about what he had planned for the whelp, but then again, if you weren't in for a little betrayal now and again, you shouldn't become involved with pirates.

As the iron door swung shut and a key turned in the lock, Gillette said, "I expect they'll hang you in the morning."

He was quite pleased about it, his round little face stretched in a broad smirk. Jack considered a pithy retort but decided it wasn't worth the effort. Once they'd gone, he gave pushing his head through the break in the wall one last effort and with a sigh sat down on the pile of hay in the corner and tipped his hat forward over his eyes. No sense in losing any sleep over it.


	3. Chapter 3

The hanging of Captain Jack Sparrow was postponed three days in order for the admiralty to properly publicize it to draw a crowd. People loved hangings. It did not matter that it was the end of a man's life or that he jerked and writhed at the end of a rope, there was something morbidly fascinating about it that drew aristocrats and peasants alike. The ladies would flinch and flutter their fans, turning their faces away, but usually from the crowd came a great cheer when the trapdoor dropped and the man with it.

Jack _had_ done some things to redeem himself, in no small part by playing a role in saving the governor's daughter, but not enough to keep him from the gallows, at least as far as the law was concerned. James Norrington lived his life by it, had sworn to abide by it, was familiar with it, even loyal to it, but felt a stirring of uncertainty as the pivotal afternoon approached. He had not seen the governor or his daughter since their parting on board ship and as there were papers for the governor to sign, made his way to the mansion on the cliff. He encountered Elizabeth in the hall outside her father's study, having just left the governor in an odd state of mind. It was a hot afternoon and as the door closed in his wake, he turned to find her standing behind him. The documents were in hand, a reluctant signature put to all of them, and her eyes darted to them, a faint tremor entering her voice as she said, "Is that his death warrant?"

The sea air and sunlight had left its mark on Elizabeth, slightly darkening her skin and creating golden strands in her chestnut hair. Once more she was in a corset and gown, the hem brushing against his shoes as she stood twisting her small hands in distress. Her hair was drawn at the nape of her neck, hanging in a mass of curls down her back. Her heart ached as she turned away and he reached after her, his hand barely touching the lace of her sleeve before it fell once more. "Elizabeth," he said gently, as if this would excuse all responsibilities on his part, "he's a _pirate_."

His position was impossible. She knew that, but all the same she answered, "He's a good man. He saved my life."

Stepping toward her, James lowered his voice so her father would not hear. "He might have saved your life but he also betrayed us, at the cost of many lives. You see in him a romantic figure, a notorious pirate you are convinced has a heart, but Jack Sparrow cares nothing for you. He acts only in his best interest. If threatening your life a second time would earn him freedom, he would do it."

In his words was the passion he usually kept hidden, a protectiveness toward her that made him unyielding, and in her heart she knew he was right; to let Jack go would be to dismiss his crimes. She hated that James could make her feel like a child by shattering her illusions. Looking up at him she wondered if marriage to him would succeed in making her into the woman her father wanted her to be, demure and mild. The restriction of her garments closed in around her, a bead of sweat trickling down her backbone as she asked softly, "Is this justice for you, James, or revenge?"

Wind stirred the curtains on the veranda but did not grant them much relief from the heat. James did not know how to answer her and was spared from it as the door opened behind him and the governor stepped out, surprised to find him still there. "Oh, Commodore, I thought you'd gone… but of course you must have much to discuss with my daughter. My chef is making a most excellent rack of lamb for this evening… perhaps you would care to join us?"

The intensity between his companions raged, James removing his eyes from her with some difficulty and managing an insincere smile. "Thank you, Governor, but I must return to the admiralty. There is much to attend to before tomorrow, security precautions and such."

"Ah, then you think someone might attempt to rescue Mr. Sparrow?"

"_Captain_," said Elizabeth.

Both of them looked at her but she was staring dismally into the distance.

"It would be a foolish thing to undertake but we must take every precaution. I bid you good night."

Her face was turned away from him and he took a step back, away from her down the hall.

"Elizabeth," said her father, concerned, "the commodore is _leaving_."

"Good night, James," she said, giving him a fake smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, _at the hanging_."

Slightly annoyed, James went on his way and the governor stared at her aghast. "My dear girl, you cannot mean to attend such a thing as a public _hanging_!"

"You are attending, as is Commodore Norrington. I see no reason why I should not."

Following her down the hall, he sputtered, "B-but, your feminine sensibilities, surely—!"

"I'm not as sensitive as you suppose, Father. After all, I have spent the last several weeks in the company of pirates!" Elizabeth reached the veranda and watched as the commodore climbed into his carriage. It pulled away down the drive and leaving her father shaking his head in her wake, she entered her room and shut the door. Her heart was in turmoil as she leaned against it, pressing her hand to her waist and attempting to breathe. Parting from Will on the dock had been very difficult, the touch of his hand lingering on hers after he had turned and walked into the darkness, returning to his humble room above the blacksmith shop. Once more he had gone to servitude, the finest swordsman she had ever known. Well, apart from James. She had seen him in action, the blade darting in and out, gleaming in the sunlight, his movements almost feline in their natural elegance. Standing hidden in the shadows above the fencing ring at the admiralty, she had for the first time understood what her friends saw in him.

And now, she was to be his wife. The notion filled her with dread, not because of James but due to her feelings for Will. Even knowing there could be nothing between them, her affection for him had not faded.

She thought he might make an appearance at the hanging and held out hope for it, quieter than usual the next morning as her maids trussed her up in another unbearable dress, beautiful but so tight she could hardly breathe. James met her and her father at the door of the admiralty and escorted them into the shade of the upper courtyard, watching as bystanders slowly filed in past the impressive row of guards. Her hand went through the crook of his arm as they walked but neither of them spoke. He left them there to confer with his men, returning to find her scanning the crowd as if in search of someone. James had a fairly good idea who it was.

Even as he was led to his death, there was arrogance in Jack Sparrow, almost a boredom that accompanied his swagger as he was taken to the gallows. An official stepped forward to read from the list of offenses for which he had become notorious. Staring at him rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he awaited his final moments, Elizabeth felt her chest constrict at the injustice of it. Her eyes slid toward James and found him absent in thought if not in body.

"… _for your willful commission of crimes against the crown. Said crimes being numerous in quantity and sinister in nature, the egregious of these to be cited herewith… piracy… smuggling_…"

Her heart beat faster in her chest, noting that Jack appeared entirely unconcerned. He assumed she would do something, that she could not stand by and allow this. And as much as she hated to prove him right, Elizabeth said desperately, "This is _wrong_!"

Ignorant of the indecision in the governor's household, the official continued, "… _impersonating an officer of the Spanish Royal Navy, impersonating a cleric of the Church of England…_"

This earned a delighted smirk from the prisoner that faded when the hangman gave him a dirty look.

In the background continued the reading of the crimes he had committed, which were considerable indeed. James had read them over and any one was a hanging offense, much less all together. Her continual appeals to him for mercy weighed on his conscience but he could not dismiss such serious charges.

Sensing his reluctance, the governor answered, "Commodore Norrington is bound by the law, as are we all."

Facing forward once more, Elizabeth heard "… _sailing under false colors, arson, kidnapping, looting, poaching, brigandage, pilfering, depravity, depredation, and general lawlessness. And for these crimes you have been sentence to be, on this day, hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul_." The official released the end of the legal scroll and it popped back up into place, his expression making it apparent that he did not hope God had mercy on _this _particular soul.

That didn't seem at all right, Jack thought, but then again he _had_ impersonated a cleric…

James was glad that in a few moments this would be over as he watched a noose lowered around the man's neck, though he had a terrible feeling Elizabeth would never forgive him. Lowering the hand shading his eyes, he was surprised when Will Turner pushed his way through the crowd toward them, dressed as a nobleman with a preposterous amount of pomp. The young man passed both of them over and caught Elizabeth's attention. Ignoring their presence, he said, "Elizabeth, I should have told you every day from the moment I met you… _I love you_."

Astonishment filled the men in her life as they looked at her for a reaction; she was caught off guard, her eyes widening as he turned into the mob. Her father was completely disarmed but James noticed he was making his way to the gallows. Above, a beautifully colored parrot fluttered onto the nearest standard and Elizabeth knew what was about to happen. As James stepped forward, prepared to order his men to detain Will, she gasped and … fainted. James knelt over her, his hand clutching at hers until he found that she was all right. Elizabeth saw the distrust and shock in his eyes and then he was gone, pushing his way toward the platform where Jack Sparrow was fighting for his life. Dodging out of the way of the hangman as he came crashing over the edge, James found his footing again and went after them.

Their attempt at escape was soon thwarted and they were surrounded, cornered near one of the pillars. Drawing his sword James stepped to the forefront with the governor and Elizabeth on his heels. His gaze lingered on Will, his sarcastic tone evident as he said, "I thought we might have to endure some manner if ill-conceived escape attempt, but not from you."

Elizabeth's heart sank. There appeared to be no shame or regret in Will over his actions, even if attempting to rescue a prisoner was a hanging offense. Behind him Jack tried to become smaller, peering over his shoulder at all of them. Once her father recovered from his shock, he said, "On our return to Port Royal, I granted you clemency! And this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with _him_? He's a _pirate_!"

"And a good man," answered Will sharply.

In the background, Jack grinned. He moved his hand subtly and a flash of crimson caught the light, unobserved.

"If all I have achieved here is that the hangman will earn two pairs of boots instead of one, so be it. At least my conscience will be clear."

For a moment, James wanted nothing more than to shove William Turner over the nearest parapet for giving him no other choice; now he would have to arrest and hang them both. He had never disliked the boy, thought him too impetuous perhaps but he was one of the most talented sword smiths on the island. The blade he held in his hand had perfect balance, the proper weight, a hilt that had been carefully designed and executed. And what's more, Elizabeth loved him, more than she cared to admit to her father. His death would cause her to forever deplore James. Anger that he had been put into this position entered his tone as he said, "You forget your place, Turner."

Never had Will looked at him with such contempt. "It's right here, between you and Jack."

Everyone held their breath and finding her courage, Elizabeth stepped forward, her heart commanding her actions, knowing only she could save them. There was a slight tremor as she said, "As is mine," and put her arm through his, trying not to look at James and finding it impossible. He stared at her. The governor gasped and commanded everyone to put down their swords, the officers responding only when James nodded. Much was in his voice as he surmised, "So this is where your heart truly lies, then?"

It pained her to answer, "It is."

No one moved, and knowing this would be the best time to make his escape, Jack approached the governor. "Well, I'm actually feeling rather good about this. I think we've all arrived at a very special place, eh? Spiritually, ecumenically, grammatically?" He peered at the commodore and ignoring the repulsed look on his face, leaned toward him. "I want you to know that I was rooting for you, mate. Know that."

The commodore remained silent as the pirate swaggered off and then, as if suddenly remembering something, turned back. "Elizabeth," he said regretfully, "it would never have worked between us, darling. I'm sorry."

Her expression was one of mystified amusement. Jack complimented Will on his hat and backed up the steps of the battlement. "Friends, this is the day that you will always remember as the day that…"

Whether by accident or design, he vanished from view as he plummeted over the edge. A gasp arose from the crowd and all rushed to the edge, peering down at the distant splash below that soon surfaced as a bedraggled, wet pirate swimming out into open water, having narrowly missed the rocks. Elizabeth felt a sense of relief, clutching Will's arm and forgetting for a moment there would be consequences. James sensed her emotions and dismissed them as he saw a ship appear on the horizon as it sailed around the curve of the island, a familiar vessel with black sails.

Gillette scoffed, "Idiot! He has nowhere to go but back to the noose… Commodore?"

All eyes turned to James and he hesitated. It would be more sporting to let Sparrow have a head start. Oh, he would see the man hang, but he would also make sure the hanging was well deserved. He considered at length and the governor said, "Perhaps on the rare occasion that pursuing the right course demands an _act _of piracy, piracy itself can be the right course?"

Finding the governor's reasoning faulty but amusing, James smiled and climbed down from the edge. "Mr. Turner?"

The usage of his name caused all to stiffen and Elizabeth clung to him as he responded. The touch of her hand, the concern in her eyes, the curl against her shoulder as it trembled, were evident to James as the blacksmith gently said to her, "I will accept the consequences of my actions."

Once certain that she understood, Will turned to face him expecting punishment and deserving it, for he had assisted in the escape of a notorious scoundrel. It was less his belief that the action had been right than his desire to bring Elizabeth happiness that caused James to have mercy on him. Elizabeth's hands tightened and she knew better than to intervene, a knot lurking in the pit of her stomach as he stepped forward. Lifting his sword and admiring the hilt, James said, "This is a beautiful sword. I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life."

His gaze flickered to Elizabeth and the emotion that passed over her was indescribable, mingled relief and gratitude. James stepped back and lowered the sword, sharing a smile with her before he turned to leave. The last of the light was fading and cast shadows across them as Gillette demanded, "Commodore, what about Sparrow?"

"I think we can afford to give him one day's head start."

The guards accompanied him from the battlement, Gillette in shock. Let the _Black Pearl_ run for the time being, James reasoned. He would catch her in time. Sending the others ahead of him, he glanced back and saw Elizabeth and Will in a passionate embrace, his absurd hat trailing from her fingers. Not wanting to speak with Governor Swann, James stepped into the shadows as he passed, drawing off his wig and muttering under his breath. James was familiar enough with him to know he would come around. William Turner was not a bad sort, and with the right guidance could more than provide for her. Once the older man vanished, James continued on his way.

Elizabeth saw him go and felt a bit of remorse as she tucked her arm through Will's, her free hand still holding onto his hat. "Wherever did you get such a thing?" she asked.

"Jack Sparrow gave me a few coins out of the cave. I thought I should put them to good use to impress your father."

As they descended the stairs, a faint sound made them pause and she looked back, drawing aside her skirts. A small red stone had dropped out of the sash tied around his waist and lay on the gray stone floor, gleaming in the fading light. It was such an unusual color that both of them stared at it, each equally strangely drawn to its influence. She could not hear the melody it made but her companion was not immune to it and reached down to pick it up. Will stared at it as he cradled it in the palm of his hand, fascinated, for it was different than a usual gemstone, more brilliant in its hues. The internal mass was shifting, moving rather like the tide. He held it up to the light as they continued to the row of waiting carriages and said, "Jack must have slipped it to me, as a parting gift, a wedding present."

He could not have known what such a phrase would mean to her, the memories it would spark of James turning to her in surprise. Elizabeth said nothing, her mood ruined as he walked her to her father's coach and opened the door for her; she stepped inside and settled on the wide seat, the governor eyeing her companion with regret. "Good night, Governor," said Will politely and her father made a half-response before turning and staring out the window. "Elizabeth," he added and as he took her hand and kissed the back of it she was once more aware of her love for him.

Closing the door, he stepped back and their driver took them down the winding road. It was quiet for a time and then her father looked at her. She knew what was on his mind, the realization that the most powerful naval officer on the island had just given her up. Governor Swann had put great stock in her marriage to James Norrington, finding them an appealing match. His plans had been torn up and cast to the wind like the finest paper. "I do not understand you," he said presently. "That you would choose that… _boy_, that… _pirate_… over Commodore Norrington…"

"_You _wanted me to marry him, Father, I never did! He's too…"

Passing down a narrow side street, the carriage hit a rut and jostled them to one side, Elizabeth trying to think of a word that would not offend him. James was too… serious, too practical, maybe even too _perfect_; she did not want the rigid life he would offer her, the constraints that would come with being his wife.

"His only fault is _not _being William Turner. I should have known this infatuation would become problematic."

Indignantly, she said, "It is not an infatuation! _I love him_. I _have _loved him since we were children!"

"He is an admirable boy, hard-working and courageous, but will not make you a good husband, unlike James."

If the carriage had not been traveling at such a great pace, Elizabeth might have flung open the door and leapt out of it. Biting down on her lip to quiet her anger, she said, "You know _nothing about him_!"

"I know he is a _blacksmith_, a worthy profession, certainly, but not one worthy of your husband. His world is nothing to be ashamed of, for it is full of hard-working, honest people, but it is beneath you. You are better educated than him, better known in society, the daughter of a governor who has the ear of the king… do you not think that alone would cause future unhappiness in a marriage?"

Resting her head against the side, Elizabeth said, "I would rather be penniless than married to a man I do not love! As fine a man as James is, I _cannot_ love him."

When the coach drew to a stop she put her hand on the door but her father halted her. Never before had he caught hold of her wrist and it took her by surprise, forcing her to turn to him as he challenged her. "That is a _lie_, Elizabeth. You have _chosen _not to love him. Do you think I married your mother for love? No! It was _arranged_ but love came in time, built out of trust and respect. I loved her more passionately and devotedly than any man could ever love a woman, and her death devastated me. You are too young to know what true love is, what it means for your life, what you would sacrifice for it. You _could_ learn to love James, but you have set your heart against him."

Elizabeth did not answer him as she stared at the docks, watching as a distant ship prepared to set sail. Wind teased her hair through the open window and calmed her spirit as she looked at her father, softening at the realization that she had crushed all his hopes. Her tone softened. "James was the one who withdrew his proposal."

"Your actions forced him into it, but he could easily be persuaded to reconsider. He loves you, Elizabeth."

Dismissively, she said, "If he did, he would not have let me go so easily."

The governor's head tilted slightly and his eyes darkened. "If James loved you less, he would have held you to your word, but he gave you what you wanted. That is the greatest love of all, to be willing to sacrifice his happiness for yours. That will always be his downfall, I think."

Releasing her arm, he let her step out into the open air and she retreated into the house alone.


	4. Chapter 4

Taverns were not James' idea of a good time but on this occasion he made no objection as he watched his officers get drunk. In such gatherings there was a fair amount of boasting and toasting and singing and storytelling, and it got on his nerves as the evening wore on. Leaving the others, he made his way down the stairs toward the front entrance. He had stared into the bottom of a pint for nearly an hour without taking a single sip. His father had been a drunken reprobate and as much as he longed to forget the events of the afternoon, he could not bear to repeat his behavior. Stepping out into the street away from the stench of vomit and rum came as a welcome relief and he chose to walk off his aggravation instead. He had left his hat and wig in the barracks and felt much cooler without them, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he followed the winding street to the docks. Normally they were deserted this time of night other than the occasional sentry but he came upon a figure cloaked in the moonlight, his approach causing her to glance over a shoulder at him. He was aware of a flash of intelligent eyes, drawing him in so strongly he moved toward them without fully knowing why. Pale hands lifted the hood to reveal an abundance of red hair, loose and unbound in the wind that caressed the folds of her garments. There was something beautiful and dangerous in her, in the turn of her face as she looked once more out to sea.

"It is haunting is it not, the sound of the waves?"

Her voice was melodious and caressed his ears; his interest in her such that she looked back at him, near enough that he knew that her eyes were blue even in darkness. "You should not walk alone; it is not safe for a woman at night."

"Isn't it?" She glanced around them and returned her gaze to his face. "I see no one other than you, Commodore."

The manner in which she said his name caused him to wonder if they had met before, her hand reaching out to touch the line of his collar. Looking up at him beneath long lashes, she said, "They say you are the finest swordsman on the island."

James found something off-putting about her, almost sinister beneath the quiet exterior as she turned and walked down the dock, her cloak rippling in the breeze.

"I understand that is also your ship in the harbor."

"Hardly, it belongs to the Royal Navy."

"But you are its captain, are you not?" Her eerie eyes flickered at him and he nodded, attempting to discern what it was about her that made him so uncomfortable. The wind caressed her hair and blew a scent toward him that was unfamiliar but enticing and he followed in her wake, careful to maintain a reasonable distance between them. Her fingers passed over the nearest stack of crates and she returned her attention to him. "You love her, do you not, Commodore?"

Wary that she seemed to know so much, he did not respond.

A smile curved at her lips. "You would do anything for her, I think. I can always tell a man in love."

His suspicions were turning into dislike, but he was too much of a gentleman to move away when she returned to him. Tilting her head slightly, she regarded him at length and then said, "All is not lost, James, you will have a second chance." Her hand lingered on his broad chest as she looked up at him and then went on her way, melting into the shadows. Once she was gone he stirred and, without remembering her, continued to the barracks. More than once he paused and glanced behind him, having a strange sensation of being observed, but then retreated to the comfort of his room and shut the door. It was small but accommodated him quite well, for he was not often stationed on land. He had made arrangements for a house but had no interest in it now that he had sacrificed his betrothal to Elizabeth.

Removing his sword, James thought bitterly that his father had been right in warning him that if he went into the Navy he would never have a proper wife. "_Those that don't mind you being gone so long are not worth having and the rest cannot stand the separation from you_," his father had said one night over his brandy bottle, taking another swig as his son watched with disapproval. "_Take your mother for instance, running off while I was fighting for king and country. Damn that woman, damn her to the depths and there may she rot! You take care, boy, not to choose one just like her! Pretty little thing, empty-headed, romantic… she liked my uniform well enough until she realized it was not just for social events_."

Tossing his cravat onto the nearest chair and unbuttoning his waistcoat, James glanced at the small portrait of her that had escaped his father's drunken rampages through the house. She was petite and beautiful, smiling up at him from a slender face surrounded in a mass of golden curls. His father had thought she was gone for good but she had not gone far and in only a few weeks James had managed to find her. In a little attic set of rooms above a storefront, she had confessed to him that she could not stand it a moment longer, that wealth was nothing when it brought on misery, and she was much happier living in poverty with a good man than putting up with his father's ill humors. James could not condone it but had understood it. The thought he had not wanted to consider resurfaced and he allowed it to linger as he stared at the candle flame, that he might have made Elizabeth just as miserable.

Looking at her made him feel melancholy and he turned her face into the bookshelf as he blew out the light and settled on the bed. The smoke drifted out the window on the breeze, weakening and fading into nothingness as the wind caressed the palm fronds and trees along the way. It wound toward the governor's mansion and swept through the curtains of Elizabeth's room, where she was tossing and turning beneath the mosquito netting. It was hot and sweat clung to her skin as she moved uneasily against the pillow, her thin nightdress bunching up as her legs sought coolness in the silk sheets. Beneath her lids, her eyes moved, indicating the restlessness of her dreams.

A lock of red touched her pillow as the woman leaned over her, searching the narrow features for what James saw in her. Pale fingers reached out to touch the side of her face but abstained, the eyes darting toward the open veranda doors.

Elizabeth suddenly sat up, sensing someone was in her room, but she was alone. Her hand groped at her throat until she remembered that she no longer had the pirate medallion. Rising and going out into the night, she stared out over the quiet town, only a few lamps flickering here and there and the entire bay silent under the shifting moonlight. She had a distinct impression something was wrong. Shivering, she shut the doors and turned the lock, retreating to the comforts of a chair and curling up in it rather than return to bed. There, she slept until morning arrived, its pale light creeping toward her across the weathered floorboards.

Dressing was difficult without the assistance of a maid but she managed to tighten her corset and slip into a gown. Her shoes in one hand, she tiptoed past her father's rooms and ran down the stairs, using the side door and crossing the garden before any of the servants had a chance to see her. Once in the street she put on her slippers and made her way to the blacksmith's shop. It was a fair distance but she knew exactly where it was, as she often walked in that direction. Few were stirring and the shopkeepers that did lifted their hats to her, smiling and pondering why her hair was in such a state, for in her preoccupation she had not bothered to comb it. Wild curls surrounded her face as she reached the familiar set of doors and knocked. Usually Will would've answered it, and when he did not her uncertainty grew and she pounded her fist against it. There was still no response and glancing behind her, she went around to the back door and entered, for it was never locked. A small gray donkey in the corner observed as she went upstairs to the small room he occupied. "Will?" she called out bravely, and the door swung inward beneath her hand.

There was no sign of him, nor any indication the bed had been slept in. His feathered hat lay in the center of the floor. Her feeling of dread returned and she picked it up, noting a reddish glint in the floorboards below. It was the crimson stone and it felt cold to her hand, ominous, even alive as she stared into its depths. The lump in her throat hardened and closing her hand around it she turned to find the blacksmith in the doorway. He was bleary-eyed from sleep and smelled heavily of rum but he knew why she was there. "He ain't here, haven't seen him since last night."

"Where is he, then?"

Blinking as he watched two girls shift back and forth against the morning light, he shrugged and wandered off. She stood rooted to the floor as she realized what had happened. Clutching the stone in her hand, she ran down the stairs and out into the street with only one destination in mind. She did not care that everyone turned to stare at her as she passed but marched with determination to the docks, noticing a commotion at one of the stacks of crates. Gillette was there barking orders as usual as his men lifted a body onto a stretcher. Catching his attention, she asked, "Have you seen the commodore this morning?"

"No, Miss Swann."

This normally would have been followed by a helpful explanation of where he was to be found but he remained silent. It was her punishment for recent events. Feeling her dislike of him surfacing once again, Elizabeth asked with repressed annoyance, "Where _is he_, do you know?"

"I haven't seen him since he left the tavern last night." Gillette let this sink in as his men carted the body past. The sheet slipped slightly and she saw a shriveled hand. It looked as if it had been lying in the sun for some time, and struck her with such dread that her expression changed. He noticed and his former coldness wavered as his voice softened. "I suspect he's still in the barracks. It's the second floor, last door to the right…" His mouth turned upward and the implication was that he assumed she had the impertinence to go up. Women were not allowed in the barracks and insulted, rather than thanking him, Elizabeth swept past. Squaring her shoulders, she followed the winding path to the barracks. She had never been inside and hesitated at the door, wondering if someone would come out that she could send up to fetch him. But after several minutes no one appeared and she ignored the increased beat of her heart and pushed inside. It was cooler in the hall and she made very little noise as she went up the stairs, the smell of gunpowder filtering down to her. Hearing a door open beneath her, Elizabeth ran the rest of the way and knocked on the last door to the right.

James never had guests other than his fellow officers and invited her in without looking, his back to her as he continued to write in his ledger. It swung inward and he sensed a presence behind him as he finished scribbling his sentence. "Gillette, if this is about last evening…"

"It's not Gillette."

His hand froze and his heart skipped a beat. James' head turned and at the sight of her, he rose from his chair rapidly. Both of them were aware that she should not be there. She heard voices in the hall and stepped further inside, hoping not to be seen. Not knowing where to look, her gaze curiously wandered his quarters, lingering on the bed. She blushed. James shut the door as two of his men left their rooms on either side of the hall and continued downstairs. He had been caught off guard and was distressed, trying to reason out how to get her back down the stairs and out of the building without being seen. "You have to leave."

"I would have sent someone up but no one came!"

Opening the door a crack, he peered out into the hall. "And your matter was so urgent that you would risk my reputation _and_ yours?"

He was beginning to annoy her. "For heaven's sake, James, no one saw me."

"No one saw you _enter_, the difficulty will be in making certain no one sees you _leave_!"

Elizabeth stormed over to him and slammed the door shut, her hand lingering on it. "Believe me I wouldn't have come here if it wasn't important."

Considering there was nothing to do about it now, James relented. Reaching for his jacket, he pulled it on and Elizabeth turned her back, retreating to his bookshelves. His room was very much like his life, orderly and systematic, but she was surprised at the titles, academic works and theological tomes, some volumes on the navy and seamanship, even a few pirate stories. Removing a volume she said, "I had this book when I was a child, until my father took it away from me. He thought it inappropriate for a little girl."

"Given recent events, it must not have done much good," James answered as he tied his cravat in the mirror.

She flipped through it, remembering well the bloodthirsty stories. It had been when she had dashed about the house with a wooden cutlass that her father had forbidden her to read it. She had spent hours looking for it and it had never occurred to her that he might have simply thrown it out. "It surprises me that you would have it," she said, glancing at him. "Isn't it a tad… _sensational_ for your taste?"

"I was a child once too, as difficult as that might be to imagine. It quite captured my fancy." James chose not to put on his wig and instead reached for his hat, the sword already buckled against his hip. "At least, it did until I met my first pirate. Encounters of such a nature tend to take the excitement out of such stories."

Returning it to the shelf, she turned around the portrait he had leaning against a copy of the Bible, the beautiful blonde in it capturing her fancy until he peered out into the hall and motioned for her to accompany him. They made it to the end of the hall without encountering anyone and he went downstairs, a moment later reappearing and indicating it was all clear. Elizabeth darted out the door ahead of him, relieved that no one was on the green. Even so, she did not relax until they were a fair distance along the wall, the cannons beside them. It would be a hot day but there was a hint of a storm on the wind and the breeze ruffled her skirts.

Knowing that she had been castigated enough, James asked, "What has brought you to me?"

"Jack Sparrow."

Wryly, he asked, "Don't you mean _Captain_ Jack Sparrow?"

The arches appeared before them and he led her into the shade, the gallows behind them. Elizabeth did not know how to explain what had happened, for she knew he would find it incredible. "Jack told me something when he was imprisoned on the _Dauntless_, a story about a precious stone that contained the spirit of a siren. If released, her soul would be set free and the man who held the stone in his hand taken in her place. I think he meant to Anthenmusa. And I believe he gave this to Will." Unfolding her hand, she showed him the blood red stone. "I went to speak with him this morning and no one had seen him since last night."

"And you believe a _siren _has taken him?"

Indignation would have arisen in her at the tone of his response if she had not been so concerned. "James," she said, and drew nearer to him, placing her hand on his arm, "a month ago neither of us believed in ghosts, much less cursed pirates, but with all we have seen, should we not take it into consideration that he told the truth?"

Bemused, he repeated, "The truth, from Jack Sparrow? He has never told the truth in his wretched life!"

He descended the stairs and she followed on his heels, her skirts brushing against the faded stones, memories of the previous evening accompanying her as she recalled how happy she had been on this very spot. Lifting her voice, desperate to make him listen to her, she asked, "Do you think it is a coincidence that he told me that story? Or that he left this behind? Or that it happened the night after his escape? _He used us_!"

Turning on her so swiftly she almost lost her footing and he was forced to reach out to prevent her from falling, he said sharply, "Yes, he did, because _that's what pirates do! You _were the one who appealed for leniency. _You _convinced your father to give him a second chance. _You _stood with him against me. If Jack Sparrow had met the noose as intended, none of this would have happened. He should have hanged for the crimes he committed against the East India Trading Company. He should have hanged for stealing the _Interceptor_…"

Flushing, she countered, "He did it for a noble cause in the end!"

"_Jack Sparrow_ is interested in no one but himself. Thanks to him, half my officers are either dead or in the infirmary. Forgive me if I do not see in him a hero."

In the angry silence that followed Elizabeth considered storming off, her usual response whenever they quarreled. James had always rubbed her the wrong way in his adherence to the rules but she needed him too much to end the conversation here. Realizing he still had hold of her, James released her and after a moment passed, asked, tiredly, "What do you want from me?"

Pushing aside her annoyance, she answered, "Jack has a fondness for Will, whether or not you believe it. He would not have done such a thing without giving us a way to undo it. The stone is from the shores of Anthenmusa and that, I believe, is where it has taken him. Perhaps if we were to return it there…"

"And what excuse, pray, do you expect me to give to the admiralty?"

On the higher step, she could look him straight on and she had never noticed how beautiful his green eyes were, warm with flecks of gold. "Tell them nothing. You set sail to find the _Black Pearl_. We may even encounter her in our travels."

"I doubt that. If Sparrow did plan this in an attempt to put as much distance between us and the _Pearl _as possible he will sail in the opposite direction. This will put me months in his wake, Elizabeth. Whatever your father might have condoned, I assure you the East India Trading Company will not share his sentiments." He glanced in the direction of the harbor and she understood his concern. He had lost the _Interceptor _and a good deal of his honor with it. It pained her to have to go to him but, she ruefully thought, that had been Sparrow's intention as well. He _knew _she would turn to James for a solution.

Elizabeth thought he would refuse her, but having given his blessing to her marriage he could not now leave her without a future husband. His face contained an element of resignation as he asked, "How can you be certain this is not an invention of Sparrow's? That he is not sending us all off to perish in the southern seas? Can you offer me anything more than your word? I cannot risk the lives of four hundred men on a fantasy."

Lifting his hand, she placed the stone in his palm and closed his fingers over it. The cold sent a shudder through him and its inward harmony intensified, a faint melody teasing his senses as he experienced numerous emotions; fear and dread and horror, rushing wind and sailors screaming as they plunged into the depths of a wild sea, sails whipping in the midst of a storm and jagged rocks rising to meet them out of endless nothingness. He saw a flash of red hair and heard an eerie laugh, footprints along a beach not washed away by the tide, flames rising and falling in the night, and… the face of Will Turner. His eyes snapped open and he found her watching him, hoping he would understand. He was torn between duty and desire, his responsibilities to the admiralty and the unspoken promise he had given Elizabeth. She would never forgive him if he did not try, but this time there was no promise in it of return, nothing except earning her approval once more. He hesitated and gave in, even though in his heart there was only a weight. "I set sail on the evening tide. I will do what I can."

"I am coming with you."

"No, you are not."

Desperation granted her inspiration and as she clutched at his arm she said, "I'll be a cabin boy!"

This stopped him in his tracks and he gave her a dubious look. Elizabeth's eyes pleaded with him. "You must admit, I can be rather convincing. No one will even know I am on board."

"Out of the question," he answered.

She tilted her head at him and said rather snidely, "Anthenmusa is an island of _sirens_… do you _really think_ it would be wise not to have a woman aboard?"

"I…" James had to admit she had a point, but could not condone the risk, either to her reputation or her safety. Sensing he was about to deny her request, Elizabeth tightened her grip on his sleeve and said, "_Please_, James."

Not knowing what was happening would drive her mad.

He could see the desperation in her eyes, her desire to find _him_. Without a word, he returned the stone to her and was gone, leaving her to clutch it to her chest and realize she had no excuses for her father. He would not agree to this, not after having nearly lost her twice, so she would have to deceive him. It was a simple enough excuse, as he had wanted her for many months to visit their friends on the other side of the island. He was delighted when she told him and made her promise to give his regards to everyone before going to the office without any further concerns.

"James will take me," she promised, knowing this would win him over.

He stared at her. "Be kind to him, Elizabeth."

That had stung more than she anticipated and as she sat later in her room staring at her trunk, she thought ruefully that her reputation was the least of her concerns.


	5. Chapter 5

Even though he suspected it was a worthless occupation, James sent out several of his men to inquire about William Turner. He was not in any of the usual places such as pubs, the docks, the market, or the blacksmith shop, nor was he in _unusual_ places like back alleys and whorehouses. It had been a futile hope but one that had sustained him for a few hours and as the ship prepared to depart on the evening tide, he wondered if this was a fool's errand. Anthenmusa was a myth spoken of by older souls of the sea, one that struck terror into sailor's hearts. "_It pulls you into it, drawing out your soul and leaving a mere shell of a man behind_," he had once been told by one of his father's associates. "_I've not been there, boy, but I've seen it from a distance… and I've seen men throw themselves overboard and drown trying to reach her_."

"That's the last of the gunpowder, sir," said one of his officers, stirring him from his thoughts.

Observing the weighted down longboat, James said, "Very well, see to it that it is loaded. Gillette and I will be along momentarily."

Ropes were cast off and the officer stepped inside, the oarsmen carrying him toward the distant ship. He wondered just when Elizabeth would arrive, since if they waited much longer the tide would go out without them. Permission, or lack thereof, had never mattered much to her and he was still undecided on the matter. The benefit of having her with them was lessened considerably by the potential problems it would cause, not the least of which being her father. James had half a mind to tell her to go home, that he had reconsidered and it was too great a risk to have a woman on board.

This was on his mind when he saw her servant girl making her way down the docks, as different from Elizabeth as night and day. She was confident and bossy, a little plump in pleasing areas, and had a smile most of his men liked. Beneath the impertinent little maiden's cap she wore, she stared up at him and said, "Miss Turner is not coming. Her father would not allow it," and held out the blood red stone on the palm of her hand.

Relief flooded through him and he took it from her, the coldness dispensed with as he put it into an inside breast pocket. He tried to think of something to have her report back but the girl vanished as quickly as she had appeared. Gillette called to him from the waiting longboat and he stepped into it in silence, thanking God that this time the governor had taken the upper hand in his household. Climbing onto the deck of his ship, he made orders and his men scrambled to attend to them, casting off and following the outgoing tide. It was a warm evening and there was a brisk breeze that would put them well on their way, his eyes on the rigging as he supervised their departure. Walking the length of the deck, he observed and as darkness approached, found something that displeased him. Following a lanky figure into the inner hall, James caught the cabin boy around the arm and pushed him into the captain's quarters. Knowing he was about to protest, Elizabeth said, "I knew you would never agree to it, so I took matters into my own hands."

"I still haven't agreed to it! I have half a mind to take you back to the mainland!"

He went for the door but she reached it first, slamming it shut and wedging her small frame between them. He had to admit, she was rather fetching with a crumpled hat shoved down on her head, even if she would never pass for a real cabin boy. "You can't take me back without explaining to my father why you took me in the first place," she said.

"I didn't take you," he answered drolly. "You stowed away."

Elizabeth braced her hand on the far side of the door, knowing he was too much of a gentleman to move her aside. "It's your word against mine."

"Ah, yes, the word of a navy officer he has known for ten years to be entirely trustworthy and the daughter he knows to be disobedient and impetuous. I do wonder which he will believe."

One of the windows was open and the breeze stirred the papers on his desk, silence falling between them as she admitted he had a point. He turned and went to his desk, and taking that as an indication that he had not yet made up his mind, she followed him. "James, haven't you ever wanted to break the rules?"

"No, since following them has suited me quite well up until now. They are there for a reason." He dropped the stone into a little box and put it into a drawer, grateful to have its unnerving presence off his person. The ship moved with the pattern of the waves and she put out her fingers to steady against the wall, permitting him to notice how small she was, her wrist revealed beneath the loose, billowing shirt she wore beneath the plain dark vest.

As he went to his charts, she accompanied him. "You broke the rules when you let Jack Sparrow escape."

"I have since come to see the fault in that thinking and suspect the consequences will haunt me for quite some time."

Frowning at him as he leaned over his calculations, Elizabeth hated what she was about to do but she had no other choice. "James, if you do not let me come with you, I will never speak to you again."

The hand guiding his instruments across the surface of the table hesitated and his head lifted slightly. Silence intruded between them, interrupted when a knock came to the cabin door. Gillette stuck his head inside and Elizabeth quickly tilted hers forward, tensing as she waited for James to announce her presence. It was on his mind to do so but as his second officer informed him of their current speed and direction, he remained quiet. Nominal individuals like cabin boys normally escaped the notice of the officers but on this occasion as he turned to withdraw, Gillette caught sight of her and a curious expression crossed his face. He withdrew and she released her breath, her secret safe.

"Your father has no knowledge of this, I trust," James said in his absence.

Moving forward and leaning slightly against the edge of the table, she shook her head. He permitted another pause and then looked at her, his normally complacent eyes revealing a hint of anger. "And what if we never come back?"

She had not considered that.

"He nearly lost you once; do you really think he could stand losing you a second time?" James spoke not as an officer but as her father's closest friend. He had not wanted this responsibility; it was enough to look after the lives of his men, to abide by an unspoken sworn code of honor to their families to do his best to make certain all of them returned alive. In their last voyage he had lost a number of them and the fact that those responsible would hang made little difference. His responsibility to the governor was far greater, a burden he had not wanted to carry with them into uncharted waters. "Elizabeth, please let me send you back."

Beneath the weight sinking into her stomach, she shook her head with determination. "No," she said.

It was the answer he expected but it still filled him with disappointment. Sensing his mood, she smiled at him. "I will be all right. I have faith in you, and it will not be too difficult to act like a cabin boy. I will spit and swear and say words like 'bloody' and 'buggar'…" She drew them out, her gaze fixed on his eyes, and she saw them widen at her impudence.

Once he recovered, James said, "Don't speak except to Gillette and myself. He will be told, but not the others. And I'll not have you sleeping below with that lot. You will stay here."

As questionable as that was, she was relieved, knowing he at least would maintain decency around her. That was far less certain below decks among men unaware of the truth. She nodded and knowing he would possibly regret this decision for the rest of his life, James returned to the task at hand.

Many times she had been in the captain's quarters but never with the notion of living in them, and she was delighted at how well they represented the commodore's personality, all in dark wood. The circular table where he ate with his officers was in one corner with a bank of windows behind it. In another was a large bed and in-between was a raised surface on which was laid out a number of maps of the Caribbean. She could hear the ocean beneath them as the ship drifted on the current and stared at the island as it gradually distanced from them. The further they went from it the less of a chance he would change his mind. Elizabeth noticed not for the first time how tall he was, immaculate in his uniform. He removed his hat and the absurd wig the British forced their officers to wear sat proudly on his head, a hint of his natural hair color beneath. The room felt like him, smelling faintly of gunpowder. She touched his writing desk, noticing the marks his sleeves had worn in the polish.

He glanced at her and resumed his attention to the maps, unrolling one of them. "There is no evidence Anthemusa exists but according to legend if it does, we must conclude it is somewhere in this area." He pointed to a portion of the chart marked with a skull and she felt a twinge of fear. "It will take us at least a week to sail that far, provided there are no distractions. God only knows what lies beyond."

Even in the fading light, James thought anyone would be a fool to mistake her for a boy; the curve of her face was entirely feminine, or perhaps it was merely apparent to one who knew her well. At sea, sailors saw what they expected to, not what was in front of their eyes, and if any of them were suspicious they would never admit it. There was a _reason _his men were allowed extended shore leave. If he kept her to the cabin, she would not be noticed.

Biting her lip, Elizabeth said, "I know it isn't what you want, but thank you, James."

"I do it under duress," he answered and left without a backward glance.

Knowing it would be prudent to remain unnoticed, she sat and read until darkness crept into the room and then served at the officer's table. It was unusual not to be sitting among them and more than once she was tempted to add a response to one of their comments but then remembered her place and lowered her gaze. James noticed and amusement intruded as she helped another cabin boy gather up the plates. "Well, come on, then," he said with annoyance when she hesitated, and she left with him, having no other choice. James suspected she had not washed a dish in her life and could not help a smile as his officers bid him goodnight and went to their berths or their posts. He _wanted_ her to suffer in some small part the consequences of her decisions; she would never learn otherwise.

Only Gillette remained and as the night wore on he found his second officer more and more perturbed until at last he said, "Permission to speak freely, sir."

The commodore was bent over his charts, the heat causing the cabin to feel stifling in spite of a stiff breeze. On his first day in the Caribbean he had seen the merit in the natives going half-naked, their dark skin gleaming, but a few hours of it and most Englishmen burned. He had learned to tolerate cravats and when indoors abandoned his coat, the thin fabric of his shirt clinging to his arms as he glanced at his companion. Gillette was rather unusual in appearance, somewhat smug in his expressions, and a tad bit cross but on most occasions held his tongue. He had been informed of the truth some hours earlier and although it had pained him, he had said nothing at the time but, "Yes, sir."

James considered at length, judging the nature of the storm that was about to assail him, and said, "You may."

"With all due respect, sir, it is madness to sail for an island that doesn't exist."

Lanterns swung overhead with the steady forward motion of the ship and he continued to calculate how far they had traveled since their departure. "If it does not exist you have no reason for concern, as we shall never reach it."

"Then let us say it _does _exist… we risk our lives, our reputations, and our ship for what—the son of a _blacksmith_?"

Glancing at his sword on the sideboard, James muttered, "The son of a pirate."

His subordinate stared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"William Turner is the son of a _pirate_, not a blacksmith."

Mouth agape, Gillette sputtered, "Then _why_…?"

"Because he is to marry Governor Swann's daughter and we both have reason to remain in his favor, do we not?"

Wind stirred the parchment on which his hand rested. Gillette admitted it with a nod of his head and added, "But, sir…"

Traces of moonlight were evident on the sea as it hid behind the clouds. James straightened, reaching for his jacket. "Gillette?"

"Yes, sir?" was the feeble answer.

"Dismissed, go and get some rest."

He departed, leaving James to relieve his fourth officer, since he had agreed to take the second watch. More than an hour had passed since he had seen Elizabeth and he met her in the hall, a permanent scowl set on her face. Her dish washing expedition had not gone well, since the other cabin boy had treated her with disdain on discovering she had no idea of what to do. "Don't you know _anything_?" he'd asked as he shoved a soapy rag into her hands. "Take this and scrub!" He had then commenced grumbling in Jamaican, enough of which she knew to tell he was insulting her. It might not have been so bad if she'd had to wash only the officer's plates, and not those of the entire crew!

"Next time," she hissed as she passed James in the hall, "you're keeping me around to polish your boots!"

Entering his cabin and shutting the door firmly behind her, she breathed out and kicked the nearest chair. It toppled over. She hated feeling incompetent and she hated that her hands were now like ripened prunes. They had not spoken about which of them would take the bed and the other sleep in the window seat. He was too noble to make her sleep on the latter but she hated making an assumption without consulting him. Still, it was late, he would not return from his post until well after midnight, and her hands hurt from the hot water. Putting out the lamp and retreating to the corner in the moonlight, she removed her shoes and stockings, unbuttoning the dull brown vest, and climbed into bed. All she had with her were the clothes on her back. Curled up against the wall, she stared at the knots in it and tried not to think about the fact that she was where her father wanted her—in James Norrington's bed. Her means of getting there was slightly different but the irony was apparent enough that it caused her to laugh, painfully. Refusing to think further on that point, she closed her eyes, willing her body to relax as she prayed they would find Will. He had opened the windows and the breeze cooled her skin slightly and let her fall asleep.

On deck, it was pleasant and the sea quieter than usual. This was why James had chosen the sea, more than the thrill of capturing rum runners or sinking pirate vessels, but wind and air and sails, the creaking of the deck under his feet and the exhilaration in the scent of a distant rising storm. Eventually, the moon appeared from behind the clouds and he was relieved, retiring to his cabin with soft footsteps so as not to awaken his companion. He could see no more of her than her hair against the pillows. Putting aside his outer garments and removing his boots, he heard something and hesitated. Elizabeth had not moved but he sensed a presence in the room other than hers, faint vibrations coming from his writing desk. He pulled out the top drawer and opened the small wooden box in which he normally kept correspondence. The red stone lay inside, glowing in the darkness.

A hand touched his shoulder and he turned to find no one there. Elizabeth murmured in her sleep and turned over, her face falling into the moonlight. She was unaware of his presence in the night and he left before she awakened the next morning. Though she ran the risk of being put to work if she ventured out of the cabin, after breakfast Elizabeth went up on deck. Sure enough, one of the men put her to the task of scrubbing the floor and though James noticed, he did not approach to speak with her, remaining with his officers at the helm as they sailed on. There was enough of a breeze that the heat was not too unbearable and when her task was finished she retreated below, shaking out her hair in the assurance that no one would venture into his cabin unannounced. Wearing so few garments pleased her, for it would have been stifling beneath the heat in a corset.

Hearing movement in the hall, she quickly stuffed her hair under her hat and retreated to a corner, snatching up a tin of boot polish. No one paid any attention to her as the officers entered, gathering at the table and quarreling over their present course. "The crew will be suspicious the nearer we are to uncharted waters, Commodore," one of them warned. "Should we not tell them?"

"Not unless you want a mutiny on your hands. They will be informed when it becomes necessary."

"With all due respect, Commodore, we do not know what lies in those waters."

"Is it not His Majesty's wish that no sea be beyond the reach of his navy?"

"Yes, but…"

"Then let us not discuss it further. Make sail on this course and Gillette, you take the first watch."

Footsteps retreated and she peered around the corner of the bed to find only James remained. It surprised them both how pleasant it was to be in one another's company without conversation as Elizabeth continued to shine his boots and he sat down to write out his day's reports. The day transpired much as the one before it, with her serving the evening meal to his officers and then retreating to a short distance to eat. She was mysteriously absent when the other cabin boy turned to ask her to help him with the washing but reappeared when everyone else had vanished. James was gone for several hours but did not have to stay on deck and returned once the sun had gone down. He regretted that she was not asleep but instead curled up in the window seat, staring out into the darkness. Glancing at him, she returned her attention to the night as he removed his sword and unbuckled the scabbard, placing them both on the sideboard.

"Tomorrow, I intend to let the men practice their swordsmanship. It keeps them in good humor."

Beneath his hand the sword gleamed in the pale light, his attention lingering on it as he considered the young man who had crafted it. The irony that he was risking all their lives to save his rival had not escaped him. James glanced at her and she looked different, paler as she rested her forehead against the mullioned pane, her expression one of concern. It was the first he had seen of doubt in her, for she'd had time to think about this errand; the danger in it, the likelihood they would fail. She fought hard to keep back tears, not wanting to cry in front of him. James did not know what to do, if he should ignore her or not, but the sight of her shoulders shaking as she sobbed silently into her sleeve made him move toward her. One hand came to rest on her back, hoping she would not find it an imposition, and he said gently, "We will find him."

"What if he's dead? What if it is too late?"

That thought had occurred to him but he reassured her, "You would know if it were too late, would you not?"

It was the first time he had acknowledged the bond between her and the blacksmith and she knew it pained him, and liked him all the better for having the courage to admit it. At her faint nod, he smiled at her, aware that her hand clutched at his arm. He was aware of everything, the hitch in her breathing as she tried to find her composure, the tension in her limbs as she held onto him, a tremor she could not contain. He was nearer to her than he had ever been in his life and though propriety warned him to pull away he could not. It was mostly dark in the cabin, only one candle burning on his desk, the flame flickering in the draft. She too was aware of his presence, his nearness, and the yearning it awakened in her was faint but profound. Mutual interest ensnared them and he leaned slightly toward her, his mouth hovering over hers. He fought his instincts, hers containing a spark of curiosity as she wondered what he would do. With great effort, James pulled away and retreated to his desk, his sudden absence leaving her cold.

Her hands rubbed at her sleeves and after a moment she asked, "What happened to make you dislike pirates, so?"

"You mean beyond all the death and destruction they have wreaked upon us?"

Sliding her feet to the floor, she stood up and wandered to the table, lifting up one of the little crafts that represented the fleet. James studied her at length and said, "When you have seen them at their worst, any romantic notions of them perish. I was twelve when I encountered my first pirate ship. My father had decided it would be best for me to go to sea. One of his associates was the captain of a navy ship with fourteen guns and a reputation for hunting down rum-runners. It was hard work, difficult, hot, taxing, and I was teased unmercifully the first six months of my internship but I was happy there, far happier than I had ever been at home. We were charged to track down a rum-runner that had sunk a merchant vessel in the Caribbean but as soon as we found them, we endured unexpected cannon fire. It was one of those dreadful cold mornings and the fog was so thick we missed the sight of the pirate ship that had come to plunder the rum-runner's stores. She caught us so off guard we were at her mercy. She had none. An hour we lasted, maybe a little less …"

Pain was evident in his voice and she watched him beneath long lashes, tensing as she realized that he was reliving the experience. His hand faltered on the edge of the desk and he stared out the window into the darkness. Much more quietly he said, "I was one of the few they spared. One wanted to slit my throat but another said to put me out to sea in a longboat without an oar. Fortunately, there was a merchant ship two days later and they dragged me out of it, dehydrated, sunburned, and half out of my wits. What I saw of pirates left me no compassion for them. They certainly showed my captain none when they gutted him on deck. It took him awhile to die. But that was not the worst of it. There was a young woman aboard, a stowaway that had slipped in among us at our last port. They found her."

Elizabeth drew in her breath.

He looked down at the desk, his face haunted. "At least they killed her in the end. That was more merciful than letting her live."

She wanted to comfort him but could not find the words, knowing anything she said would be inadequate. James hated that he had been powerless to help her and had never forgotten her screams. Forcing them out of his mind and reaching for his sword, he ran his fingertips against the hilt. "Perhaps if she had known something about this, she would have had a better chance," he said.

Though it was for them both, it was mostly for him that she said, "Teach me."

And for once, he did not remind her of the "rules."


	6. Chapter 6

Throughout an evening of sparring, Elizabeth sat at a fair distance and watched, observing how they moved, parried and thrust, shifted out of the way, and remained on the balls of their feet. It delighted her how enthusiastic the crew was and it lifted their spirits, wind filling the sails and the cold sound of steel on steel ringing across the surface of the sea. The air bore a scent of a storm but James suspected it would not catch up before they crossed into uncharted waters.

"You have an advantage," he told her. "You are lighter, quicker on your feet."

He found her an eager student, ready to learn and with natural talent. Once she knew the basics it was not difficult to be inventive and over the next three evenings he educated her on proper form and never letting down her guard. He spoke to her not as a woman but an equal and her progress was swift. She liked what happened between them in their lessons, the pride that entered his gaze whenever he saw improvement; the ease of his conversation, for James was a fine swordsman and spoke of it passionately. In it she discovered a means of knowing him better, sensing what he wanted and responding to it while benefitting from his expertise.

Daylight was spent in menial tasks, often parrying in the comfort of their cabin. Once, she turned around too fast and sliced the candles on his desk clean in half, covering her mouth to stifle her shocked amusement before she picked them up and put them back as if nothing had happened. Gillette frequently sparred with her at night, a task he enjoyed until it became difficult for him to counter her assaults. Having nearly beaten him and sent him off in a huff, the foil loose in her hand, Elizabeth approached her instructor and leaned against the rail beside him. The more time James spent around her, the more he thought his men had to be blind not to realize she was not a cabin boy. He suspected more than one of them knew the truth but said nothing about it.

"Will _you_ spar with me, James?"

It was a calm night and the flame of the nearest lantern flickered across the surface of the water. The deck was deserted. James glanced at her and found her smiling at him, the ruffle of her shirt blowing in the wind. "I might disarm you," he said.

Elizabeth said coyly, "You are welcome to _try_, Commodore."

At sea it was inappropriate for an officer to spar with members of his crew, both on the off chance he might be disarmed and because it put others at a disadvantage. He'd not had a proper opponent in weeks, not since before the difficulties with Jack Sparrow had intruded on his methodical life. He wanted to take her up on it, but hesitated. Sensing she had him, in a low voice she said, "You are sharing a room with the governor's daughter, on a mission no one has authorized, sailing to an island that we may never return from. I would say you have left adhering to the rules far behind. So why not enjoy it?"

They looked at one another, amusement playing across her features. He unbuckled his sword belt. Elizabeth felt a rush of excitement as he put it aside, removing his coat and hat. His hand swept the wig from his head to reveal dark hair tied at the nape of his neck. The sword made a metallic sound as he removed it from the scabbard. Wind teased her sleeves as she turned and came at him. James was caught off guard long enough for her to gain a temporary upper hand but instantly retaliated, a spark of admiration surfacing as she countered and parried his attack, her footwork and balance solid. Her level of skill was nowhere near his but he enjoyed fighting with her, watching her improvise. She took her agility and put it to good use, ducking a thrust and daring around a barrel, using it to block his assault before she grabbed onto the rigging and swung up onto the railing. Balancing there like a bird she asked, "What say you, Commodore, have I learned well?"

Leaping over the flash of his sword, she landed on the deck and spun around to meet him, the movement drawing them together with their foils crossed at the hilt. She tried to pull away and couldn't, for he had hold of her. Delight danced in his eyes. "Not quite well enough," he answered.

When he released her, she darted away again. He parried all of her attacks but suddenly her blade slipped past his and drew a line of red on his arm. It startled her and in a swift movement James disarmed her, catching her about the throat and pushing her back into the railing. He felt her pulse rush beneath his fingers, though he was not gripping all that hard. Pinned between him and the rail, she had nowhere to go and he did not let her go as soon as he might have. She stared up at him and he lowered his face toward hers, his voice calm and quiet. "Never let down your guard. Never be afraid to draw blood. Hesitate and perish."

Such tension was in them both that Elizabeth could nearly hear the blood pumping through her veins; her heart sounded loud in her ears, keenly aware of his warmth as he held onto her. As he started to move away her hand caught his collar and drew him back to her, her mouth meeting his before he had time to think. Elizabeth was uncertain what prompted her to do such a thing, only that as he had stared down at her she could think of nothing else. He was shocked at first and then took control, the tension of recent days overcoming them both as he let his sword fall to the deck. The kiss deepened as he gave into months of frustration and it shocked her how aggressive he was as he took control. Elizabeth responded to him desperately, clinging to him as his lips parted hers with intensity, displaying a passion he could not express any other way. In his arms she was powerless and he took pleasure in her submission, in the desire that awakened in her. She could not have pulled away from him even had she wanted to and she _didn't_. The realization of what he was doing came over him and he suddenly pushed away from her, his head turning quickly to discern if anyone had seen them in the shadows. But no one else was aloft and they were out of sight from the man at the helm. He did not know what to say and leaned over to pick up his fallen sword. "I'll take the night watch," he remarked and not meeting her gaze, fled.

She was attracted to him more strongly than ever before as he abandoned her, wondering what he had done and not daring to remember it. He needed a walk to clear his head. In the heat of their embrace her hat had fallen off and she snatched it up, not bothering to replace it as she ran down the stairs into his cabin and slammed the door. Leaning against it, she covered her mouth with her hand, remembering his touch, his taste, the weight of his firm body pressing against hers, the excitement his caresses had caused her. There had been no thought of Will in that moment, only of James. She went to the water basin and poured some into it with trembling hands, hardly able to meet her reflection in the mirror.

"What were you _thinking_?" she asked, staring at the pale girl peering back at her. Shaking fingers combed through her hair as she tried to forget how he had made her feel, the passion had stirred in her. It felt as if she had betrayed Will. She splashed her face and drew her hair back, dampening it as she wondered if she could bear to look him in the eye when next they met, since now she knew that locked beneath his rigid composure was a passionate man after all. Flushed and shaking, she drew off her vest and threw it in the corner, sinking onto the bed and pulling off her boots. She was angry that she had initiated it; she had done so without thinking, just as she did everything else. Even though he would never admit to it, would never speak of it, she knew she had crossed a line between them that could never now be undone. What must he think of her, knowing she was betrothed to another man? Always she had observed James from a distance, never permitting her to think of him as a lover, but in his response he had shown her that he _could_ be. And she had _liked_ it.

From the depths of the desk came a faint sound, consistent in the background as she opened the drawer. Removing the little carved box, she tilted up the lid and stared at the contents, the strange, glowing red stone that had set all this in motion. If she wasn't here, this wouldn't have happened. She would not be conflicted, wondering which man she wanted more, the boy that had held her affections from childhood, or the man she had learned to respect in recent days. If it weren't for Jack Sparrow, she would never have given him a second thought. For a moment the desire to hurl the rock out the window was strong but remembering what she would sacrifice in doing so, she shut the lid, threw it back into the drawer, and whispered, "Bloody pirate!"

There was a strange mood on board ship that night, an eerie whisper that caressed the ears of all men and stirred them in their sleep, making them restless below decks. James was not immune to it and felt disquieted when Gillette came topside to take over. He took one last walk around the deck and his second officer called him over. There was something moving with the ship, beneath it, unseen, a shadow that kept pace with them and lifted the hair on the back of his neck. A sudden movement out of the corner of their eye caused their heads to turn swiftly aft, but there was nothing there. Unnerved, James asked, "How near are we to the crossing?"

"I charted us five hundred leagues but the storm may have driven us onward." Gillette looked paler than usual as he stared down into the water, watching the shadows leap and dance beneath the surface. "Is it a mermaid?"

"A siren," James answered. Knowing he would be worthless if he did not get some sleep, he went below. Lurching toward him in the gloom was a familiar shape, one of his officers. He appeared to be sleepwalking, a murmur escaping his lips of a beautiful maiden. Taking hold of his arm, James drew him away from the stairs and directed him into the nearest closet. He shut the door firmly behind him and turned the lock, leaving him there as he returned to his room. There came over him a strange sensation as he turned the handle, a crimson flash from his desk that he did not notice as he stepped inside. He thought Elizabeth was asleep but as he removed his sword belt and sat down she stirred, sitting up and wrapping her arms around him as he tugged off his boots. Her head came to rest on his shoulder and she complained, "You promised you would not tarry so long."

"I had the best of intentions, but a ship needs its captain and unfortunately, duty comes before pleasure."

The room was in darkness other than the moonlight, the lanterns rocking softly in the rafters. Elizabeth kissed his shoulder and he turned his head against hers. "You should have slept," he said.

"I can't sleep without you here with me, you know that."

He smiled and his fingertips glided up her arms, creating a sensation that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. He arose and placed his compass on the desk, his attention drawn out the window at the fog drifting in around them. "James," she said when he paused too long, and he returned to her, accepting her invitation to slide between the sheets. Settling against her, he gave her a lingering kiss, his hand teasing the fabric against her back as he rested his forehead against hers and breathed in her scent. Never was she more beautiful than with her hair tousled. Wind stirred the maps scattered across the table and strands of it fluttered around her face. He tried to remember what it had been like before their marriage, when he had lived in this room alone, but couldn't. It felt as if she had always been there. Elizabeth rested her hand against his chest, over his heart as she felt his pulse beneath her fingertips. Breathlessly, she whispered, "James, there's something I want to tell you."

Entwining her fingers with his, she lowered them to her abdomen and for a moment neither of them breathed. His head left hers and he stared down at her in the moonlight. His eyes darted downward and then lifted to hers once more, delight creeping across them. "You're certain?"

Biting her lip, repressing her happiness and not quite succeeding, Elizabeth confessed, "The doctor told me before we left. I didn't want to say anything earlier because I knew you would send me straight home again. And I could not miss the maiden voyage of your new ship or your first sailing as an admiral." She leaned up and kissed him again, her happiness evident as he gently lowered her into the pillows. He held her gently, more careful now that he knew she carried his child, but still her body arched against his, pressing against him. For a moment she had been concerned that he might be annoyed that she had kept it from him, but James had forgiven her that. He had learned long ago that his wife did nothing according to how it was normally done, only by her own standards. Lifting his head, James looked down at her, moving a lock of hair away from her face. "Sleep," he said.

"Only if you hold me in your arms," she answered.

Resting her head against his shoulder, she eventually drifted into unconsciousness. It took him a little longer as he stared into the darkness but eventually he too succumbed. His first awareness of morning was her lying against him, still asleep. Soon one of his men would come to report to him but for the time being he lay in silence. There was a different aspect to the room that he felt but could not discern; a vague notion in the back of his mind that he had forgotten something. It felt almost strange to have Elizabeth in his arms. Leaving her and managing not to wake her in the process, he went topside and approached the man at the rail. The lantern still burned, for there would not have been enough light to see without it, and in the distance he heard a rumble of thunder, indicating the storm that had been chasing them for days had not given up.

"Good morning, sir," said his second officer.

"It is a thick fog this morning, isn't it? I have never seen it's like this far south."

"Indeed not, sir, it came upon us in the night."

Frowning as he stared out into it, James asked, "What is our current position?"

"I'm afraid we cannot be certain of that, sir, but it is possible we sail near Anthenmusa."

The name struck him with dread and a faint stirring of familiarity that granted him pause. "That's over a thousand miles from our intended course, Corporal."

"Yes, sir, I'm not entirely certain how it happened… but you had best speak to the men, they're ill at ease."


	7. Chapter 7

It was not uncommon to find her husband gone when morning came and Elizabeth dressed without him. At sea she wore a simple gown that would not too much hamper movement. The approaching storm was apparent, a scent of rain heavy in the fog as she emerged on deck to the sound of raised voices. Making her way through the outskirts of a crowd gathered beneath the helm, most of the men stepped aside automatically as she passed. James stood at the railing looking down over them. He wore his usual mask of indifference but from how tightly his fingers gripped the woodwork she knew he was concerned. As she ascended the stairs, from the midst of his crew came a booming inquiry of, "Do we sail near Anthemusa or not, Commodore?"

The name sparked a distant memory but she could not put a name to it and let it go, her curls stirring against her shoulders. In a steady voice that inspired calm whenever it was put to use, he answered, "We seem to have strayed off course in the night, but I assure you that whether or not we sail near Anthenmusa, we will continue in the task His Majesty has set for us, to further pursue the _Adrianne_. She stalks these waters and if she can survive them, so can we."

"I say we turn back!"

At the murmur of agreement James looked at them rather coldly. "You will follow orders or you will be thrown into the brig as mutineers, and we all know what happens to mutineers."

Elizabeth glanced at the rigging.

One of the men said, "We mean no disrespect, Admiral, but after what happened to poor Timothy…"

She turned to Gillette for an explanation and he said, "He drowned last night, threw himself overboard for no reason."

"There is always a _reason_, Corporal." Not knowing why, Elizabeth stared at her hands, trying to remember why the cabin boy's name lingered in her thoughts.

"It's the dreams that are disturbing me," said a voice, but she did not bother trying to discern who it belonged to. "If it was just one or two of us, that'd be something, but we've all had 'em, and not only that, but the same one!"

Overhead, the sails barely stirred and James indicated he should continue.

"It's a woman, more beautiful than we've ever seen, with long red hair… she be warnin' us to turn back."

James glanced at his officers. "You've all seen her?"

Most of them avoided his gaze and one or two nodded. It was the same wherever he looked apart from Elizabeth, who shook her head at him. Neither of them had dreamed of this woman but for some reason he felt as if he should have known her. His hand remained steadfast on the rail, his voice soft but clear as he said, "We'll do our best to avoid the island but of greater importance is the impending storm. Go back to your posts. I'm afraid we might have to ride her out."

As the crewmen scattered, James was surrounded by his officers. None of them could understand how they could be in uncharted waters or what had happened to the _Adrianne_, which had been in sight against the horizon. She was a Spanish pirating vessel and no one had been able to stop her rampage across the Caribbean. Their orders to hunt her down at any cost had come from the royal court and to be so far south disconcerted them.

The day was spent poring over charts in the captain's quarters, attempting to discern where they were. The storm remained in their wake, drawing nearer throughout the night as he continued to consult his charts, the wind pressing them onward toward the ends of the earth and the candles on his desk flickering with each spray of the sea against the windows. Elizabeth slept and he was aware of her as he worked, thoughts of the island tormenting him as he tried to fathom its location and prepare a course that would take them nowhere near it. There were enough stories about her to have some idea of where the island rested, if indeed she was not a myth, but the strange occurrences among his crew warned him that sirens were not fragments of their imaginations. His crew had dreamt of the island and Gillette confided in him that his had become a nightmare. Sirens preyed on men's instincts, their deepest desires and fears.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and the candle flame wavered in the draft. James fell asleep on his desk, stirring only when the grayness of another morning appeared and a knock was heard at his door. "Admiral," said Gillette and stuck his head inside, "we are nearing the depths."

It was a name given to the darker seas, waters where ghost ships were said to roam, a place not even pirates dared to sail in the belief that it was owned by the inhabitants of the underworld. Dead souls were ferried there in crafts, mermaids lived in its murky reefs, and at its center was the island of the sirens, a place no man returned from alive. The depth was said to be far greater than anywhere else in the sea; a man might drown for hours without ever reaching the bottom. He stirred, drawing on his coat and waking Elizabeth. She accompanied him up on deck. The lanterns cast eerie hues across their faces and the fog muffled all sound, transforming the water and sky into endless gloom as the ship shuddered and creaked, its timbers moaning. His wife moved closer to him as they stared into its depths, wondering if anything lurked beyond their line of vision. Gillette took hold of the hilt of his sword and listened with the rest but nothing other than the sound of the waves intruded on the silence. Something passed in the water, a drifting piece of wood. Elizabeth's concern deepened as the waves lapped it, leaving a crimson stain behind. Tugging on his sleeve, she pointed it out. James was unwilling to believe it until at his side Gillette exclaimed, "_Blood_, a sea of blood!"

Horror thrived in their midst and James said, "Not a word of this to the crew. I need them calm. Elizabeth, I suggest you remain in our cabin for the duration. We have four hours, maybe a little more, before the storm catches us. We must find our heading and pray we reach it before the worst is upon us."

Retreating below, Elizabeth shut all the windows in their quarters and put anything that might break into a safe place. It was more than an hour before her husband reappeared, removing his sword and placing it on the sideboard. She felt his concern and attempted to abate it with her own confidence. Her hand covered his as he put his things aside and he looked down at her, finding trust lurking in her murky eyes. "This is a fine ship, James, and you are an experienced captain."

"Finer captains and better ships than this have been lost to the sea."

Scrolls rolled the length of the table, a sudden gust of wind startling them as it pelted angry raindrops at the windows. The room darkened as clouds moved in overhead and the fog began to dissipate beneath the downpour. Elizabeth felt a shiver of fear and a mild sense of panic as he moved away from her. She watched as he placed a knife in his boot and straightened up, meeting her gaze. "Whatever happens, do not leave this cabin unless I come for you."

Her fear was apparent and he crossed the space between them to take her by the arms, firm enough to indicate he meant it. His hands were warm against her sleeves, sending a tremor through her as he stared down into her eyes. The calm voice she was so fond of said, "Elizabeth, promise me."

Rain began to spatter against the decks and roll down the windows. The lanterns flickered overhead and in their feeble light she nodded. He abandoned her, a loud clap of thunder causing her to make her way to the nearest chair. On deck wind tore at the ragged sails, glistening drops of rain fell against the mast, and waves crashed into the hull as the ship slammed into frothy foam. For hours they fought for survival and more than once James feared they would all drown. Water poured over the sides, drenching the crewmen attempting to tie down the cannons. It was a harsh and difficult task at the best of times, much less in the midst of a hurricane. Hands grasped at ropes and bloodied fingers lost their hold; one ripped loose from its moorings and sent a man overboard. The sea engulfed him and his final cries were lost in the crack that tore through the heavens. It was madness to sail on in the storm, but they were caught in it, and there was no turning back.

James slid on the blood that stained the deck, shouting orders to his men. All responded and redoubled their efforts, as eager to survive as he was. Water rose around them on all sides in a cascade of debris, capturing their reflections as they stared into it, hearing, above the rush and roar of the storm, a faint melody. It was harmonious and soul-searching, reaching out to them and causing all emotions to fade as their heads turned to the wall of water. James was captivated by it but not as strongly as the others and fear gripped him, his lungs tightening and dread increasing as flashes appeared in the sea, flutters that were not human and more than mere ghost. The music continued to grow stronger and caressed them, drawing them to the rail. Feminine forms rose out of the water, stretching out slender arms; auburn hair that burned like fire danced around bare shoulders, their eyes gleaming as red lips parted and continued to sing to them, urging them nearer. The remaining cabin boy did not listen to James' command, stumbling to the rail and reaching out for the lithe fingers. A lovely face smiled at him and beckoned as he grasped a rope and climbed up, struggling to reach her. He leapt, the siren deliberately missing him as he fell, plunging into the churning sea. An eerie, sensual song surrounded them, flowing into them, causing all to respond, even James, though he fought it with every instinct he possessed. He watched as dozens of his men leapt to their deaths, and was powerless to stop it.

A hand gripped him by the shoulder and he turned to find one of them behind him, all wind and flame as she drew his lips to hers. This was one battle he could not resist and her influence radiated through him, causing him to give in as she pressed him to the mast. She felt cold but comforting and all concern and fear melted away, leaving only longing in his soul. Her hand spread over his heart and he felt pain, a sharp remembrance that caused him to fight. _Elizabeth_.

She felt his affection for his wife surge through him and his hand closed over her wrist, tightening as he forced her away from him. Shock was on her countenance as he backhanded her so hard she collapsed to the deck. Around him the sirens snarled. Planking split beneath their feet and overhead what remained of the sails were torn apart by the wind and driving rain. James looked up as one of the upper beams split. "Gillette," he whispered.

His friend had no time to move, the storm drowning out the sound of the beam as it crashed down on top of him. Screams tore through the air, splintering wood and the roar of the waves drowning out the sound. Forcing his way across the debris, James found Gillette staring upward, his soul having departed from his mangled remains. Numbly, he left him lying at the bottom of the stairs and went to help them pull a man from under the rigging. Sirens shrieked and plunged once more into the depths, walls of water foaming over them as they crashed into the sea.

Below decks, Elizabeth fixed her eyes on the flame of the lantern, watching it tease the intricately patterned glass as it swung from the rafters. Long shadows grew around her as the chair she sat on slid several inches forward. On the far wall hung a mirror and she caught sight of her reflection, her pale features surrounded in a sunburst of sun-bleached hair. The storm continued to rage and waves slammed into the aft section of the ship, not quite reaching the windows. It had been hours since James had left her and her nerves were on edge. She had seen the waves rise higher than the windows but been incapable of movement, pinned into place as if a supernatural force held her there, spreading its terror through her veins. It had vanished now and the desperation of the seas returned.

The door opened and she started upright but it was merely swinging loose on its hinges. It creaked inward as the ship tilted dangerously, charts and navigational instruments rolling from one end of the table to the other. Deciding she could not sit there any longer, she stumbled across the room. Bracing her hand against the wall, she went out into the narrow passage that led up on deck. She felt her way to the stairs, water cascading down them. Cries were heard in the distance as wood splintered and a spray of salt water hit her face as she emerged. Blood mingled with the outgoing tide and teased the hem of her skirt. There was a tense emotion of fear in the air, as it was the worst storm many of them had encountered. She stumbled and fell, covering her mouth in horror as she saw Gillette. He had spent many evenings with them since their marriage and she had come to be fond of him. She thought of the mother he left behind, the younger brother that would mourn him, the woman waiting for him to return in the hopes of marriage. Her heart ached and she reached out to touch the side of his face but could not bear it.

Until the next burst of lightning she could not make James out among the others, shouting orders as he steered them through the storm. Shivering, she hung onto the railing and watched him. He saw her purely by chance and his expression changed. His hand faltered on the helm, flinching as another wave pounded against them. Ragged sails snapped overhead and lightning struck the crow's nest, wood splintering as it buckled. She watched men fall beneath it and topple overboard. Her fingernails dug into the soft wood of the doorway and she did not move until a strong pair of hands took hold of her. It shook her from her daze and she looked up into his handsome face, his voice strained with grief as he said, "Elizabeth, go inside."

Her eyes darted to the poor soul pinned beneath the fallen timbers, others shouting as they tried to help him. Knowing she was in shock, James dragged down the stairs to their quarters. The dryness of the cabin was comforting after the chill in the open air and it was much quieter when he shut the doors behind them. In their absence the storm raged; flashes of light diminished through the murky windows, lanterns creaking, items rolling across the floor, back and forth against the walls. Leading her to the nearest chair, he sat her down. His dark hair was escaping the ribbon at the nape of his neck and the sleeve of his uniform was damp as he touched the side of her face. She did not know why he was so calm, but he had spent many years at sea. He knew its perils and was not intimidated; he respected but did not fear it. He did not need to, as she feared it for him. Gillette lingered in her mind; it could just have easily been James. They were never far apart, the younger man idolizing James and rarely more than two paces behind. Dread was coming over her, certainty that if he went out on deck he would never return. She had seen the anger in the sea, its determination to claim as many lives as it could. And though she could not explain it, she knew it wanted him most of all. He turned to leave but she darted around him and pressed herself against the door. "James, stay with me. _Please_."

"If I cannot command this ship, we will all die," he said.

"We may all die anyway, and you surely will if you go out into the storm."

Placing her hand over his heart, she pleaded with him in her eyes. James was about to relent when they heard screams from the deck. The floor tilted beneath them and threw them against the doors as the ship pitched forward. Behind them books slid from shelves and fell to the floor, the contents of the table scattering, the buffer not tall enough to prevent them from rolling away under the furniture. Water began to seep in under the door and beyond the windows all they could see was gloom as the sea closed in around them. A hand struck the glass, a garish face staring in at them as the man drowned. James covered her eyes by pressing her against him, watching as convulsions carried him to the depths. It was surreal under the waves, the lighting flashes dulled through the water. The ship creaked ominously and he prayed the doors would hold. Elizabeth's fear mingled with his, her heart beating frantically against his chest. She was shaking. He could do nothing but watch as they sank into the darkness.

The screaming subsided, replaced by the groaning of the ship as it sank, driving into the sand with such force that the seams split overhead and water began to spray through. It was too deep to survive if the windows did not hold. The sea was green and an odd sensation filled his thoughts, a sense of calm impossible under the circumstances. The crew… his men… all dead; maybe _all of them_ were dead and this was a passage to the afterlife. One of the ship lanterns drifted to the bottom, its flame still burning. Ominous creaks were heard overhead and a shadow passed beyond the glass, a silhouette that struck both of them with fear as they approached. The lantern half-buried in the sand continued to flicker, illuminating drifting seaweed. Distantly, Elizabeth imagined that she still felt and heard the fury of the storm, or maybe it had subsided now that its quarry was at the bottom of the sea.

In the darkness, a faint crimson glow came from his desk and unlocking the drawer, he removed a flat crimson stone. It was cold to the touch and as he held it in the palm of his hand, he started to remember…

"Will Turner," he said.

Elizabeth stared at him, not knowing what he meant.

Another shadow passed behind the glass, a flutter of fabric and auburn hair, a tap of a finger against the window that began a crack. It spread ever outward and then broke; seawater rushed in, quickly filled the room. James never let go of the stone as he caught hold of his wife, holding onto her as the water flooded over their heads. Everything was distorted, his image of Elizabeth one of infinite beauty in the midst of horror, a sickly greenish hue cast over everything. Then they were sucked into a void of churning darkness, the air drawn from their lungs and the pain such that he lost consciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

His first awareness was sand beneath his fingertips and waves flowing in and out around him, dragging him slightly back with each motion. Opening his eyes, all he could see was gray skies. He turned his head to see Elizabeth beside him, her face so ashen that fear gripped him as he knelt over her to search for a pulse. It was faint but steady and he looked around them. It was a small island made more of rocks than beach, jutting up out of an angry sea that cast a spray into the air each time the water hit the reef. There was no sun and it was cold enough that in his damp garments he shivered.

"James?" Her murmur brought him around, as disoriented as he was. "Are we…?"

Wryly, he finished, "Dead? I think not, but rather that we have found Anthemusa."

The island appeared to be deserted, or at least there were no other voices emerging from the mist. It unsettled her how quiet it was, ominous, nothing like what she had imagined. He reached out to help her up and asked, "Are you all right?"

She was unsteady on her feet and every bone in her body ached, for she had been slammed into the rocks. Trembling from the cold, she nodded. He rubbed the palms of his hands up and down her arms, attempting to warm her. "I would offer you my coat, but I'm afraid it's as wet as you are. Let's attempt to find our way inland. There must be something on this island we can burn to make a fire."

Fortunately, she still wore shoes or else attempting to navigate the shoals would have left her feet in tatters. Hanging onto his lapel as they went along a path cut into the rock face, Elizabeth asked, "Where are the sirens? Shouldn't we have seen them by now?"

"Be grateful we haven't," he answered. Mist shifted and took shape around them, luring them to a narrow passage that led inward. James did not want her to go first but the prickling sensations on the back of his neck made him reluctant to leave her to the rear. He felt there was a presence in the island, in the fog, but they had no alternative. Their footsteps echoed as they made their way inward and they heard a pebble bounce off the far wall onto the path. He saw a shadow dart along overhead, accompanied by a delighted peal of laughter that sent a shudder through him. But nothing hampered their progress and both were disappointed that the mainland was not much different from the shore. It was an eerie sort of place filled with dead trees and so cold their breath froze in the air. Their presumed solitude troubled him and he kept a watchful gaze as they descended narrow stone steps and reached level ground.

"I have heard stories of this place, of a lush garden surrounded in beauty," said Elizabeth. "What does this mean?"

"Either the stories are untrue or the sirens' absence has left the garden to ruin."

Movement in the mist warned him they were no longer alone. Each step caused him to pause as he listened for the first warning melody but the sirens were silent, foreboding. He was grateful for Elizabeth's warmth against his side, a reminder that this was not a dream and they were not dead. Not yet, anyway. Her hand found its way into his and did not let go as they approached a place where stone turrets rose from the earth, forming the remnants of what had once been a magnificent pagan cathedral. Dead growth flourished in its crevices, a few dried up flower stems pushing through the cracks in the floor. Dark shapes took form in the fog and his companion drew in her breath as the sirens appeared, for they were not as she expected; these were deathly creatures, no longer beautiful. Years of hunger had sunk their eyes into their heads and lost the luster of their skin. Unwavering gazes burned with intensity in gaunt faces, more like ghosts than the seductive women described by wayward sailors. Their garments were colorless, here and there a hint of crimson in gray strands of hair, but most were beyond death. Mouths opened but no sound came out; their voices had gone the way of their bodies, not having sung in so long they could no longer produce a harmonious note. Even so they were fearful creatures and he tensed at the sight of them, alarmed at their silent approach.

Backing away from them carried them into the ruins and they turned as another form took shape, this one possessing none of the failings of her sisters. Scarlet locks flowed nearly to the ground and her garments were made of living flower strands, floating around her and illuminating the unusual glow to her skin. Her voice was melodious and stirred him deep within, producing a yearning that pleaded with him to be answered. It was a soft voice, gentle, even tender as she moved toward them, so familiar that he could have sworn he had met her before. "You must forgive my sisters; it has been too long since we had humans among us."

She made her way to the stone chair and sank into it, her interest evident as she considered them. "You do not know why you are here, do you?"

James had a faint notion, a hint of a memory that stubbornly would not come forward; Elizabeth remembered nothing, pressed against him as she stared at the gaunt figures that surrounded them. The siren smiled and said, "You should have turned down her request, James. She would have forgotten him. All of them would have. It would have been as if he had never existed. Even _you_ do not remember him."

"I remember," he answered. "Not all of it, but enough to know that this is an illusion, this _reality_ you have created for us. Does it amuse you to toy so with our minds?"

Her skirts moved slightly in the wind, her hair so brilliant it reminded him of red satin. "It _does _amuse me, for you mortals are such curious creatures, so predictable in your choices…. or so I thought. I spent centuries imprisoned, aware but incapable of holding any influence, an observer encased in a glass sphere as I watched humanity. I suppose you despise our kind for what we do, but there are no innocents in the world, only corruption and evil. I have seen men slit the throat of a friend over a woman's hand, murder and pillage their way through the world merely to obtain what their heart most desires. But we do not keep all who stumble in here, even though under our current circumstances it might be in our best interest to do so. No, you are given a choice: to remember or forget, to leave what I have done as it is or to undo it."

Realization sank over him, filling him with an incomprehensible dread.

Elizabeth stared up at him. "James, what does she mean?"

It had all become an illusion, their life together, his memories of their happiness; everything she believed to be true. He removed the stone from his pocket and stared at it, its bitter cold reminding him of what had brought them here as flashes of the past intruded… her coming to him in the barracks, pleading with him to let her remain on board ship, the angry words shared between them… _Elizabeth _did not love him. The Elizabeth he had known had a fondness for him, a kindness toward him, an affection that did not go beyond friendship, but she had never wanted to _marry _him. The memories of their engagement, of their wedding, of their first night entangled in one another's arms, even the child she now carried was an illusion that could become a reality, if that was his choice. And James wanted it more than anything. He did not want to give her up, to forget their life together and never have another chance to build upon it. His mistakes could be undone, the _Black Pearl_ captured, his position at the admiralty certain. But he would _remember_. That would be his punishment, to every day look into her eyes and know he had robbed her of the man she truly loved, of the life she would have led.

"There is a choice within a choice, isn't there, James?" the siren asked quietly, staring at him.

He trusted her more than the others that moved in closer around them, their skeletal forms garish against the rocks. His desire battled his sense of honor as he realized what he would return to; he would have nothing if he chose to be selfless. Beside him, Elizabeth could not comprehend what they meant, what he remembered that she could not. She stared at him in uncertainty, her hair loose and damp around her shoulders and heard James say tiredly, "Let her remember, and forget."

The siren knew what he meant as she rose to her feet. One lean hand stretched toward Elizabeth and she flinched away from it, the coldness of the woman's skin casting her beneath its spell as she grew still. Memories floated away from her and distant thoughts returned, everything that had happened since they had entered the fog dissipating as the purpose of their voyage returned. Intact were the moments they had shared of innocence, and her hand did not lighten on his arm but he felt her grow emotionally distant from him as she whispered, "_Will_. What have you done with him?"

Briefly, his eyes closed and when he opened them again, he found the siren watching him with understanding. She felt his inward pain even if his companion was oblivious to it. Her blue eyes became cold as she observed Elizabeth, her dislike obvious. Her hair seemed to have a mind of its own, twisting and curling in an indication of her mood; clapping her hands drew open a stone doorway and out of it stumbled one of his crewmen, slightly dazed. He was relieved to find the commodore present but dumbstruck at the horrific women that surrounded them. Leaving her throne, the siren moved nearer. "What did your stories tell you about us, Miss Swann?"

Standing as near James as she could, Elizabeth whispered, "That you lure men to their deaths."

"I suppose it _is_ a kind of death, though their soul lives on in the mist. Their consciousness is never lost; it is just that their life sustains our kind. Centuries ago we were sovereign in the seas, the most fearsome force known to humankind, able to shift our island wherever we pleased, but over time were driven southward, beyond calm waters into crimson seas. Suspicion and fear keep sailors from venturing too far into our depths, regulating us into an eternity of starvation, for you see, our kind do not die of hunger—they merely live on in spite of it. But it takes so little to nourish us."

One hand reached out and caressed the chin of the second mate, on his knees before her. "No, please," he begged. "I don't want to die…"

Red lips parted and out of them came such a beautiful, haunting sound that even Elizabeth was affected by it, causing a stir in the mist and a shiver of delight from the others. She watched as his expression changed from fear to peace and his hands stretched up to the siren, yearning to submit to her will. James was not as taken with it and although he took a step forward, confusion evident, he resisted. The siren led the second mate to one of her sisters and fear returned as the song ended. The sinewy form bent toward him and his screaming ceased, for in a kiss she drew out his life force. Color flooded into her, streaming through her skin and rippling down the waves of her hair as they transformed into auburn strands. She let go and the corpse fell to the ground, blank and shriveled in death. Elizabeth had to press a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from crying out, dread filling her soul as she wondered if that was what would happen to Will.

The queen turned to her with a smile, anticipating her thoughts. "Few come such a distance to rescue one of their own. In fact, it might even be considered madness. James has made a choice but in it is another choice, one that encompasses _both_ of you." Her attention turned to him once more, the expression in her blue eyes unreadable, and he remembered the temptation she had offered him, the warmth of Elizabeth's body pressing against his. "I have seen into your dreams and memories and you each hide what is in your heart. Elizabeth, you _pretend_ to have no affection for him but that is not the truth, and it is no secret what he feels for you, even though you have used him abominably. Have you felt _nothing _these last few days?"

She could not know what it had been like to be his wife but the empty ache that filled her soul granted her pause, for it remembered even if she did not. Not wanting to meet the siren's gaze, Elizabeth loosened her grip on his arm. Dread was rising in her, as she felt that ahead was an accusation she could not refute. It waited for her, lingering over her head, wanting her to remember.

Returning to her throne, the queen said, "No one who reaches these shores is without a choice. James has made his decision, now you must make yours. I will allow two of you to leave this island unharmed. Elizabeth, you must choose between them: the commodore, or William Turner."

Weathered and beautiful faces alike watched them with expectation, a cruel smile touching the queen's lips. Elizabeth had no means of communicating her distress other than a whimper. It took all her strength just to remain upright. She had _never _wanted to choose between them, in some small corner of her heart hoping to remain near to both. The realization that it was not an easy decision came over her in a rush of self-loathing; where once she might have chosen Will in an instant now she hesitated, not only because James would face unspeakable horrors on the island but she could not bear to think of life without him. Encounters of the last few days returned to her, the tone of his voice and warmth in his gaze, the touch of his hand at her waist and his nearness, the passion they had shared in that one impetuous, forbidden kiss.

James was resigned when she looked at him, calm in spite of what he felt certain was to be his fate; she saw it in his face and said, "James…"

Gentle green eyes softened at her anguish and he reached out to touch her cheek, curling his fingers beneath the tangled strands of her hair. "I will make your decision easier. I will stay."

"No!" Her hand grasped at his and he felt the desperation in her. "I will not leave without _both_ of you!"

Closing his hand around her arm, James pulled her aside and removed his dagger from his boot. "Take this, you may need it."

"I will not let you sacrifice yourself!"

Indignation caused her to stand taller, her determination touching even if it was driven through fear. She had never been entirely without him, and could not imagine a world in which he was not there, steadfast and ever responsive to her needs. In many ways she was still a little girl in spite of all that she had seen. James glanced at the shadows that surrounded them and stepped nearer to her, lowering his voice as he said, "One of us must remain. You have a _life_ to return to, a father who loves you, and a future with the man you love. All that awaits me is disgrace. I have not accomplished what I was meant to, I have not fulfilled my orders, and in spite of my better judgment, I allowed a notorious criminal to escape. I will be court-martialed."

She knew what that would mean for him; the humiliation would kill him. James lived by the rules and when he bent them it was for her best interest and not his. She understood then that he had never expected to return alive and it sank into her slowly, creating numbness that spread through her and ignited the grief resting just beneath the surface. "You _want _to die," she whispered. Her hand fumbled at his arm, anger igniting in her. "That, I find impossible to believe! That James Norrington would ever simply give up? You have fought all your life, James. You cannot stop now! Have you forgotten who you are? Or what you have taught me? I _know_ there is passion in you, use it! I will _not _let you go."

Never had he seen more fire in her, flowing through her as she glared up at him, as if her plea could dictate his actions. She strained upward toward him, her mouth parted slightly, and at her unspoken invitation he leaned down and kissed her. It held not the passion it had contained on board ship, but instead was full of remorse and longing. When he tried to move away, she grabbed his arms and held onto him, her eyes damp but full of anger. "No," she said.

Behind them, the sirens were growing impatient and their queen asked, "Have you made your choice?"

The wind teased her hair and pulled at the skirt of her gown, her confusion increasing as he smiled at her. "She has," he answered, and turned away from her. Elizabeth could not form coherent words but moved forward as he approached the siren, who stared at her for a time, then indicated the tunnel from which the unfortunate prisoner had appeared. In a tone that implied how pleased she was with her latest conquest, the siren said, "You will find Mr. Turner inside."

Bracing her hand on the doorway, Elizabeth glanced back and James gave her a firm nod of encouragement. Though she hated leaving him there, even hated him for the choice he had made, she darted into the gloom. In her absence, he turned to the siren, one of the most beautiful beings he had ever encountered. When she held out his hand, he took it, searching her face and attempting to discern her motivations. Her attention rested on the empty doorway and she entwined her fingers around his neck, bringing him close. "There goes the woman you love, leaving you behind to save him. Is that not how it has always been between you, James?"

Her eyes were unnatural, the color of the sea after a fierce storm, drawing him in and threatening to drown him. There was more enticement about sirens than their voices, although he felt strangely distant from this one. Though he should have been intimidated at her presence, he was not afraid of her. Sensing it, she looked to him and her fingernails dug into the back of his neck, drawing drops of blood. "You are calmer under the circumstances than I anticipated, Commodore."

"Death has never particularly alarmed me."

"Even a death such as the one we propose for you?"

James met her gaze without flinching. "It seems quick enough."

Mist moved around them and she released him, leaning back in her chair as he straightened up, once more the perfect officer. "You have not answered my question. Why would you make such a choice for her? You could have kept her."

"Why would you _want _me to keep her? Or is not concern for my interests that drives you but that you are bound to an ancient ritual that forces you to give your prisoners a choice?" James watched her face alter slightly with this suggestion and knew his assumption was right, that it had not been in her best interest to grant any of them a choice. Moving a slight distance from her, he said, "Here, you are accustomed to commanding men to do as you wish, but in my world there is freedom to choose. I could not remove that choice from her, and it would dishonor me to do so."

One bare foot crept forward and she arose from her throne, descending the stairs toward him. "But in such a choice, you run the risk of losing."

"Is it any different than the choice you offered us? I am the one you want, am I not?"

Lifting her chin, the queen granted him a little smile. "What happened to you on board ship, all you saw and felt and experienced, the memories, were not an illusion but a reflection of _potential_. You might have chosen that life and returned to live it, the remembrance of your rival fading with each passing hour. It is a choice I knew you would make even when tempted. The stone in the wooden box in your writing desk granted me access to both of you, allowed me to discern your natures. You are the nobler one and I counted on that, but it does you merit, James, for you have invoked my interest in spite of granting me what I most want. Death is not what awaits you. If we were to consume your life and the lives of your crew, in time we would continue in our slow starvation. We have another use for you."

Recognition sank into him and dread took hold. "I see."

"Do you?" Her eyes darkened and a ghastly smile touched her lips as she reached for him, her hand closing around his wrist. Placing her mouth near his ear, she whispered, "So you see, dear James, you were abandoned not to _death_ but a fate far worse by your moral standards. Death you could abide, would even welcome as you have not much left to live for, but you are to be my buccaneer, and you will bring me _souls_."

Many emotions passed through him but one brought a smile to his face. "Have you a preference for _which_ souls?"

This intrigued her. "Do you have certain ones in mind?"

"I rather thought _pirates_, one in particular."


	9. Chapter 9

Tearing off a piece of her petticoat, Elizabeth held it over her nose and mouth as she felt her way forward. The place smelled of death and decay; any bodies had long since decomposed and only bones remained. The higher she went the more rank it became until she stumbled over a figure crouched on the floor. She was slammed to the stone floor, the wind knocked out of her; a gnarled hand closed around her ankle, the siren rasping out a noise in an attempt to speak. Elizabeth kicked her in the face and was thrown against the wall for her efforts, her head rebounding off the stones. As bony fingers tightened around her throat, she grasped the knife James had given her and drove it up into the siren's head. The ashen countenance shuddered, the sunken eyes blinked, and the mouth let out another guttural sound before it stumbled back and collapsed. Removing the blade from the corpse, Elizabeth ran up the stairs. "Will!" she screamed; her voice echoed in the prison and she heard shouting. She found another staircase and ran up it, emerging into a patch of feeble sunlight. Bodies pressed against iron bars and she saw James' crew, weary, hungry and dazed. She jammed the dagger into the lock and started to twist it, all of them speaking at once. Fresh blood appeared on her hand as the handle slipped. It was no use, the lock held fast. "I'll find Will," she told them, "he'll know what to do."

Weary cries followed her into the gloom and the stench intensified, gradually their voices fading into the distance. The darkness intensified and the hair lifted on the back of her neck as in a whisper she asked, "Will?"

"_Elizabeth_?"

Just enough light was present for her to make him out in the furthest cell, approaching the bars in disbelief. He was pale and thin, weakness apparent in his slow movements. The sirens had been living off him for weeks, taking just enough that he would not die. Letting out her breath in relief, she ran to him, clutching at him through the slats. Will felt her face, arms, and hands, unable to believe it was not a dream. His head rested against hers and he breathed in her scent. "It cannot be you! This must be an illusion… another of their tricks. I have seen you so often of late, Elizabeth; watched you roam the shoals, heard your voice in the night. They torment me with images of you."

"I am not an illusion, I am _here_." She forced him to look her in the eye. "I have come for you. James has come for you. He is below with the sirens… we must go, quickly. How do I get you out?"

"Force the rod in the corner into the lock. It's old and rusted. It will break if you can get it at the proper angle."

Putting all her weight against the lock, Elizabeth forced it until it snapped open. Will pushed through the door, throwing his arms around her. "You are real after all," he said into her hair, drawing her back and giving her a lingering kiss. Then he wavered slightly on his feet and she supported him, concerned that he was too weak to walk on his own. Putting her arm around him, Elizabeth led him back to the others. He tried to assist but wound up leaning weakly against the wall as she employed the rod to break them out. Most seemed none the worse for wear and eager for escape. The nearest asked, "What can we do? We cannot just walk out into their midst… and for that matter, is there even a way _off _this island?"

"I'd rather find out than wind up like the last two we heard screaming," answered one of the men. "I saw a window not far down the south passage, big enough to fit a man through. It'll be a climb but we'll make our way down to the beach. The pair of you had best go back the way you came!"

Leaving them behind, it was difficult to navigate the stairs but they managed it, only hesitating when they returned to the siren in the passage. She was not dead but too weak to stop them as they carefully stepped over her and continued in their descent. Each downward tread deepened the weight on her heart and when they emerged into the gloom, Elizabeth had made a decision. The sirens were waiting for them, and James, his expression before he composed it revealing the pain it brought him to see them together. Will stumbled toward the nearest rock and she let him sit on it, reassuring him with a glance that she would return as she walked toward the queen. "You said I had a choice," she said, "that two of us would leave this island. Is that a promise you intend to keep, no matter what the circumstances?"

"My word once given is unbroken," answered the siren. "I am bound by the ancient rules of our order and Anthenmusa would fall to the perils of the sea if I did not abide by it. Have you chosen, then, dear Elizabeth?"

James and Will both stared at her, their minds equally at work, and they reached the conclusion in the same instant. "No," they said in chorus.

Ignoring them, Elizabeth said, "I choose to remain. Let them go."

Silence surrounded them and the expression on the siren's face darkened. "This, I did not expect from you."

"I will not leave either of them behind. You are bound by your word. My choice has been made."

"Elizabeth, don't!" The sound of Will's voice tormented her but she did not look at him.

Beside her, James whispered, "Please, do not do this."

Glancing at him, the siren said, "You know what this means… an eternity in our midst, becoming one of us." Her gaze was intimidating, her attention unwavering as she stood on the step above and stared down at the woman for whom she held such contempt. Elizabeth felt cold at the thought of remaining among them, of starving with them, of forgetting all but the endless cold and the deep hunger each of them felt for liberation from this place. Sirens did not die so it would be an eternal prison, a place of infinite misery. The happiness she had hoped to find with the man she loved wavered, the memories of James in recent days returning to her, reminding her that she could have one of them, the pirate or the officer.

A cold hand reached out to her and Elizabeth hesitated as she stared at it. "Let me show you," said the siren.

Their fingertips touched and suddenly she remembered events that had not yet transpired, images flickering through her mind of rain and the scent of roses, of shifting sheets and entwined bodies, of a garden in which she wandered, a child that ran ahead of her laughing. "Hurry, Mummy, daddy has come home!"

Shading her eyes, she could make out a slender form walking up the winding path toward the garden gate, their daughter running to be picked up and thrown into the air. Elizabeth increased her pace but could not make out who it was other than that his nearness quickened her heart. As he emerged from the shadows the world vanished and she once more stood before the siren, a tremor in her veins. "You may still choose one of them, Elizabeth," said the siren.

This continued persistence aroused her suspicion and as she looked at James, he too revealed a renewed interest. It struck her that neither of them was more important than the other, not among so many seamen, so the unusual abhorrence for her sacrifice made her wonder if it was significant to them. "Let them go," she said.

In the background, Will fought against the sirens that restrained him. James lowered his head, his eyes sliding shut with remorse. There was a profound silence and then the queen said, "Let it be so."

Her face was set in stone as she indicated the way to the beach and Elizabeth accompanied the others, her heart heavy but content in the knowledge they would survive. The mist parted as they stepped out onto the shoals to reveal a longboat with a single burning lantern, a small craft but strong enough to carry them from one reality into the next. Will had to be forced into it and was too weak to do much more than cough, his violent protestations cut short when the nearest siren bashed his head into the side. He slumped into the bottom unconscious and James turned to her, his hand on her arm. "Go with him," he pleaded.

She shook her head. "No."

Remorse lurked in the depths of his eyes as he considered whether or not to forgo his usual gentlemanly behavior and throw her into the longboat. He did not have the opportunity, for the siren caught hold of him and shoved him inside, her unnatural strength such that it knocked the air out of his lungs. The tide drew them out into the water and though James wanted to steer them back to shore, he could not. It was not permitted and the hold the island had over them all rendered his desires useless. Elizabeth stood on the shore and watched them grow distant, her arms folded at her waist. Beside her, the siren said, "Not once in six centuries has that choice been made. I had not the strength to make it, and paid for it."

A long strand of hair fluttered in front of her face as Elizabeth stared at her. The siren returned her gaze. "Sirens are not born, they are created. All of us loved enough to damn our souls by abandoning another to this place. I would have let you go, but you would have returned in time, having cursed your choice through selfishness. In choosing to save both of them, you have saved yourself." Reaching out, she stroked the young woman's hair back from her shoulder and then gave her a shove, hard enough that she stumbled to the rocky ground. "Go, now, go to them."

The water was cold and tugged at her skirts as she waded out into it, staring into the mist and barely able to make out the shape of the longboat as it floated off shore. "James!" she shouted.

Hearing her name, he turned around and saw her swimming toward them. Removing his coat, he dove in and the light of the lantern drifted across the surface as he towed her back to the boat. She was thrown up into it shivering, her skin sickly pale in the light as he crawled in beside her. "How?" he asked.

Water streamed down her face as she shook her head, her teeth chattering. He wrapped the coat around her and the fog closed in around them, the rocks fading into the distance. "What about the others?"

Distant screams came to them, human and inhuman alike, the sound of gunfire and a flash in the distance that indicated the ship's guns had gone off. Clutching the side, they stared toward the commotion, unable to see what was transpiring other than continued blasts of light, the echo of the cannons rebounding in the silence. James moved as if to dive in, but her hand halted him. Her arm wrapped around Will, she shook her head. He listened to the horrific sound of his men being subdued, of their bid for freedom thwarted as the cannons fell quiet and the dreadful gloom closed in around them until it felt suffocating. All of them stared at the light as it continued to lure them out into deeper waters, the heaviness settling upon them until all of them drifted into unconsciousness.


	10. Chapter 10

It was raining.

Elizabeth stood in front of the window, staring blankly through the streaks the downpour made against the glass. It felt strange to be at home once more, though it had been more than a month since the merchant ship had found them adrift in the Caribbean, the wreckage of the ship around them. The fog had lifted and brought them into its path, fortunate to be alive since all of them were dehydrated. Her return home had been met without suspicion on the behalf of her father even if he found it strange that it coincided with the arrival of Commodore Norrington, in the wake of losing his ship and crew to the hurricane. Without her, he might have captured the _Black Pearl_, but she had driven him into the storm. Elizabeth felt responsible for what had happened, but there was nothing she could do, for to reveal the truth would be almost as destructive to his military reputation as the lie.

For the past half hour James had been in conference with her father, the murmur of their voices distant from the upper hall. She had not spoken to him since their return and wondered how he would seem, for in recent weeks he had altered, his reputation in tatters. It had hurt him more than she had ever dared to imagine, diminishing him in spirit as much as in name. Hearing his footsteps coming down the hall, she went out to meet him, his descent slowing as he saw her awaiting him at the foot of it in the gloom. James experienced many emotions as he looked at her, not the least of which regret as she reached out to him and then remembered her place, drawing her hand back again. All barriers that had fallen between them in their travels had been resurrected and all he encountered in her presence was pain. "James," she said, and he almost hated the sound of his own name, "I heard what has happened. I'm sorry."

"Under the circumstances it is hardly a surprise," he answered.

Rain reflected against their faces through the near window and he lowered his gaze, turning over his hat in his hands.

"Father told me you are leaving tomorrow… must you go?"

Humiliation awaited him if he remained; the realization that he would eternally be remembered for his failures rather than his numerous accomplishments. Once it would have meant a great deal to him if she asked him to stay. But each had made their choices and must now live out the consequences. "There is nothing for me here," he answered, and felt a small amount of pleasure that this seemed to torment her. As he had returned to the tattered remains of his life, had seen the ruin allowing her to influence him had brought about and started to resent what lingered between them, as much as he hated the memories of their future. The influence of the island lingered with him even in its absence and the ghosts of what might have been would be his burden to carry alone.

Quiet infiltrated the house and unnerved by it, James said softly, "I must go."

Their footsteps echoed in the lower corridor, Elizabeth accompanying him as far as the front door. The sound of the rain increased as she opened it and glancing at her, he went out into the downpour. He got as far as the front gate before she ran after him, the cold seeping through her gown as all the care her maid had put into her hair that morning was undone. "James," she cried, and he turned back to her, silhouetted for a moment in the lane. Elizabeth stopped, her hand resting over her heart as she realized he had been the one in her forward-memory, the flashes the siren had shown her, the man who had caught up their daughter and twirled her through the air. Suddenly, her heart ached so hard it took her breath away and she realized it was too late, that he would leave her forever.

He waited for her even though his coat was soaked by the time she reached his side. They stared at one another, an inexplicable remorse passing between them. "James, promise me someday you will come back."

It seemed such a petty plea, for he would have nothing to return to, yet she willed him to promise her. James saw much in her eyes, misery and doubt, sudden fear and the discovery that after this moment their lives would never be the same. Her hair hung in a drenched mess around her face and she was shivering in the cold. He thought about how much he had wanted her, _still_ wanted her, and the fact that in two months she would marry William Turner. Nothing had changed. If he remained, he would always bend to her will, relent when she appealed to him, risk anything for her, and having nothing in return apart from her gratitude. He would leave until she no longer dominated his every thought, until he could look at her without regret, until he either regained his commission or drank himself into an early grave like his father. Searching her gaze, he said, "Elizabeth, you cannot have us both."

There was no resentment in his words, no hatred, but it pained her as he walked away without a backward glance. Elizabeth watched as the coach rumbled down the lane, unmoving until her father shouted from the house for her to come indoors before she caught her death of cold. She was thoroughly wet by the time she reached the threshold and sensing her inward distress as she slumped on the nearest bench, the governor said, "I'm sure he will recover. James has always been a fine man."

_A fine man_, she thought dully. That was what he had always called James, but until it was too late, she had not realized the truth in it. And as her father shut the door and called for her maid to come and attend to his daughter, as she fought back a torrent of hot tears that she did not want to have to explain, as she remembered all that he had confided in her and done for her, at the cost of his reputation and station, she realized that she had lost him forever.


End file.
